


The Man Behind the Music

by readercat



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Past Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-01-14 01:18:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1247320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readercat/pseuds/readercat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik Lehnsherr is a "serious" muscian (aka, music snob).  Charles Xavier the bubble-gum pop star that Erik loathes.  But the more he gets to know the man behind the music, the more Erik realizes that he may have gotten some things wrong about Charles...</p>
<p> 03/10/16:  Like all my other WiPs, this one's not dead--it's only sleeping...</p>
<p> </p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Press Conference

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik and Charles are musicians attending a charity concert. Erik is a dick. Charles smacks him down. Raven is an awesome sister (just ask her--she'll tell you).
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter re-edited 9/20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Got the pic off tumblr--don't know who originally posted them (but thank you!). These and Britney Spears' 'Baby One More Time' were the inspirations for this story. 9/20: Photos disappeared, but I'll try to find them again.

 

 

 

 

Erik Lehnsherr will be the first one to tell you that, yes, he knows he’s a pretentious music-snob (meaning that he steadfastly refuses to acknowledge this fact—the pretentious part, anyway).  But as hard as he’s worked, and as much blood, sweat and tears as he’s put into his music, he humbly acknowledges to himself that he’s earned the right to be a _little_ bit of a snob.  After all, he writes beautiful, poignant, complex songs that make people laugh and cry and _feel_ …and best he of all… _think_. Nope, no pretentious bubble-gum pop for Erik Lehnsherr. He has too much self-respect to stoop so low.

 _‘Unlike some people’_ , he thinks, standing backstage at the charity concert where he‘d been forced into performing.  

He’ll leave that ridiculous pop tripe to the likes of that no-talent pretty-boy, Xavier, and others of his ilk.  Erik sneers, unable to hide his disdain of the other man…boy… _halfling_ …whatever he is under that slick, polished exterior.  A trained monkey could do Xavier‘s job: bounce about on stage and lip-sync to insipid pop songs  _written by someone else._   Erik scowls, listening to the already-excited crowd getting louder and even more excited as the final act is announced. Erik rolls his eyes, also unable to hide his disgust at the general stupidity of Xavier’s fans.   _Have they no pride?_  The deafening roar of the crowd as Xavier takes the stage answers that question, and Erik sighs deeply.   _No, of course, they don‘t._

To make matters worse, Erik is forced to sit through Xavier’s performance (the main act, for reason’s beyond Erik’s comprehension) because he was ‘contractually required’ to attend the press conference immediately following the concert.  Well, he may have to sit through the performance, but that doesn't mean he has to  _listen_ .  He sighs in relief as he puts in his earbuds and cranks up the volume.   If one more his handlers reminds him that he’s _‘contractually required’_ to attend that fucking press conference, he is going to kill them with his teeth (a threat if not believed, was not necessarily _dis_ believed, either).  Ah, being forced to sit through Xavier’s performance, what did his do to deserve this indignity?  Erik’s label, and his agent/attorney, the whole fucking _world_ if he could swing it, was going to be kissing his ass for some time to come to make up for this…this….ah, forget it.  He doesn’t even have words for the horror. 

And the hits just keep on coming.

 

Erik actually arrives at the press conference on time (ignoring the exaggerated sighs of relief from his agent/attorney and his label rep) and collapses into his assigned seat, ready to get this shit over with and get out of here.  As he slumps down in his seat, letting his eyes drift closed for a moment, he hears the chair next to him scrape across the floor and a body flop down in it.  His eyes pop open and unmitigated horror runs through him when he hears a cheerful English-accented voice chirping, “Hello, there! Charles Xavier, here. Erik Lehnsherr, right?”  

Erik looks over to see a pale, freckled hand ( _I didn’t know he had freckles…_ ) in front of his face.  Erik’s gaze wanders over the offered hand, up his arm, and up and up, to finally rest on a pale, lightly freckled face sporting a friendly smile and... _the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen._ The smile becomes a little strained and Xavier’s cheeks flush a bit when Erik doesn’t respond, just stares.  Erik can’t say why he does that—just stares—he’s usually not _that_ openly rude to someone.

Charles flushes pink and gives an embarrassed cough. “Erm… Well. Right, then…” and turns away to introduce himself to the rest of the press table.

Erik notes that they waste no time in falling all over Xavier, stroking his injured ego back to life.   _God, even his laugh is annoying,_ Erik thinks, when Xavier laughs at someone‘s incredibly stupid joke.   _Sell-out._

 

         

          “…All I am saying, is that musicians should take pride in their talents. Hard work and dedication to one’s craft should always trump record sells,” Erik is arguing.  

“Are you saying that we are untalented?” Xavier sweeps a hand out, indicating himself and the rest of the table. “That we aren’t dedicated or hard-working just because we sell a lot of records? That what we do isn't worthy of pride? I beg to differ, Mr. Lehnsherr.”  

Erik’s temper snaps, “You don’t even write your own music, Xavier!  Who could be proud of _that_ !? ” In the background he can hear his agent hissing at him to shut up, but he ignores her, too much on a roll now. “You prance about on stage, lip- syncing  someone else’s songs, and you’re _proud_ of that?  Whatever happened to artistic integrity? For music to _mean_ something?”  

Erik is a little surprised to see Xavier jump to his feet, cheeks now flushed deep red, “Maybe, you fucking elitist prick, I like what I do.”

Erik rears up, “Now hold on, just one sec—”

But Charles keeps talking over him, shouting, “I _like_ making people feel good and giving them the freedom to not have to think at all if that‘s what they need! I _like_ giving someone the gift of leaving their problems behind, even if only for a moment. I work _damn_ hard and I sure as _fuck_ , don’t shame people for the kind of music they choose to listen!”  Leaning down in Erik’s shocked face, Xavier picks up the table mike and says into it loudly and clearly, “And I don’t lip-sync!”

Then he slams it down on the table and storms out of the press conference, ignoring the press’ shouted questions and flashing cameras.

 

 

 

_Oh my God! What the fuck have I done!?_

“Oh my God, Charles!  What the fuck did you do?!”

Charles cradles his head in his hands as he talks into the speaker-phone. “I don’t know! _I don’t know!_ I’ve been asking myself that question non-stop, for hours!”  He groans in misery.  “God, Raven! He was such a fucking dick!  I just lost the plot and blew up at him right there in front of everyone!  Fucking stuck-up, elitist git! I wanted to bash him over his stupid head with that mike, but I was worried I’d break it.”

“The mike or his head?” Raven giggles.

Charles snorts out a laugh. “The mike.”

“What stopped you?  You know we’re good for it.”

Charles huffs out another laugh, “Yeah, but it would look kinda bad considering that my charity was for abused children.  And there I’d be...abusing the biggest child in the universe.”

Raven giggles again. “Well, at least you seem to be feeling a little better now.  I get off work in just a bit, then I’ll swing by and we’ll order pizza and watch your meltdown on TMZ, SBT, ET, EW, and whatever other channel is showing it in all of its high-definition glory.”

“Thank you, Raven. I‘d forgotten about hi-def,” he says, dryly. “I look forward to it.”

“You know you do,” she says. “Well, my break’s over, Sunshine, gotta go.  Love ya, big bro!”

Charles smiles big, feeling better now. “Love, you too, Snoogins.”

“Fuck you, Charles!” she exclaims, mock-pouting. “You know I hate it when you call me that!”

He’s still laughing at her when she hangs up on him.

 

 

 

Erik is still out-of-sorts over the events at the press conference earlier.  He knows deep-down ( _very_ deep down) that he’d been unforgivably rude, not only to Xavier, but all of the other acts.  Usually, though, everyone just backs off or ignores him when he gets like that.  Oh, sure— _sometimes_ someone might get a little mouthy, but they back off once he 'smiles' at them (his teeth seem to disturb people, for some reason).  But Xavier… _Xavier_ of all people, had popped a gasket and come right back at him.  Though reluctant to admit it, Erik hadn’t known how to react.  He honestly wouldn’t have thought the mincing little ponce had it in him to raise that oh-so-posh voice, much less get in Erik’s face like that, then storm out in anger.  And Erik will _neve_ r admit _this:_ Xavier had fully succeeded in putting him in his place.  The glares from the other delegates at the table had clearly said that they sided with Xavier and that Erik was every bit the elitist prick that Charles had called him.  And if he didn’t believe Xavier and that other bunch of blowhards, seeing himself looking like a complete ass on TMZ (in high-def) had definitely done the job.

Feeling ashamed of himself, either in word or action, was foreign to Erik and left him feeling off-balance.  He was angry, too, that Xavier hadn’t played by the rules and had called him out like that in front of everyone.  Being shamed by some no-talent hack like Xavier was _definitely_ a feeling that Erik could do without. He soothes his bruised ego by convincing himself that Xavier had reacted out of jealousy.   _Yeah._   It had to sting that Erik called _him_ out about not having the talent to write his own music or to even perform a song that wasn’t auto-tuned.   _It must be nice to have nothing more pressing to do than sit back and look pretty, reaping the benefits, for everyone else’s hard work._   No doubt the little bastard was intimidated by Erik’s talent and accomplishments. _Anyone would be_.  Thinking about it like that, Erik can even be generous enough to work a little sympathy for Xavier.

 

 

 

“Well…that wasn’t bad at all,” Raven announces says, watching TMZ’s coverage of the event.  “They make Lehnsherr look like the ass that he is, and that you were just putting him in his place.  You actually came out looking pretty bad-ass, Charles.”

“You really think so?”

“If TMZ’s coverage makes you look like the good guy, the other shows are going to make you look like a saint.”

Charles still looks unhappy.  “I just wish that none of it had been necessary.  I know better than to pay attention to guys like Lehnsherr.  I should have kept my cool and not let him get to me like that—I thought I was past that kind of thing.  But, God, he was just _such_ a dick!  He just _kept_ harping on the lip-syncing thing and acting like he was so superior.”  He waves his hands around, getting more agitated.  “I think I’d have been ok if he’d just insulted me, but he insulted _everyone_ , Raven!  Acting like he was the only real musician and that the rest of us were just hacks—like he was sullying himself just by being there.”

“Charles, the guy is a pretentious dick—everyone knows that! Sure he’s talented and all that, but that only gets you so far. If you can’t back it up with a decent personality, eventually everyone’s gonna hate you for being an arrogant bastard.”

“I guess so.”  Charles sighs. “I just want to make people happy, Raven.”

“You do, Charles!  I see how people smile when they’re dancing to your music and singing along with your songs.  You may not put out deep, intellectual opus…opuses…opii…like Dickcheese Lehnsherr does, but never think that you’re not as good.”

Charles smiles at his sister and gives her a big bear hug, “You always make me feel better about myself, Raven.  I knew there was a reason I kept you around…”

“’Cuz you love me, and I’m amazing, that’s why!”

“Well, that too!” He hugs her tighter.

“Ow!  You’re squishing me, Charles!” Raven giggles.

“Bwahahahahaha!  I’m not Charles!  I’m the Squish-Monster,” Charles growls.  “I’m gonna squish you and eat all of the pizza myself!   _Raaawwrrrrr!_ ”

“No!!!” Raven shrieks, laughing as Charles plays their old game.  “Not the Squish-Monster!” 


	2. 6 Months Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sight of Charles's butt makes Erik's brain melt. Charles smacks him down again. Raven continues to be an awesome sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re-edited 9/20

_6 months later…_

 

Erik wanders the back halls of the concert venue, waiting for his rehearsal schedule.  He was more than a little surprised that he’d been invited to perform at the upcoming charity event—especially after the fall-out from the press conference disaster a few months back.  He’s even more surprised that he had actually accepted the invite, considering that he’s been so busy “working on his album”.  His agent/attorney, Emma Frost, had suggested that it would be a good idea for him to keep a low profile (her exact words being, “Hide out and lick your wounds for a while. After the way Charles Xavier handed your ass to you, you need it.”).

To Erik’s embarrassment, he’d really come across like an ass to the public. Normally, he couldn’t care less what _anyone_ says about him (as long as they don’t insult his music), but the press had _really_ done a number on him, ganging up on him like a pack of wild dogs—in high-def, no less—while making Xavier look like a saint (if Erik has to look at those ridiculous blue eyes in hi-def one more time, he’s going to kill something).

He’d gotten his ass reamed by Emma, too.  She’d told him that if he ever pulled a stunt like that again, she was out the door.  Any other time, Erik would just laugh it off—if he had a dollar for every time she said that she was quitting, he’d never have to work another day in his life.  But he had a feeling that she really meant it this time.  Not only had he embarrassed her in public, but then she’d had to go about fixing his fuck-up (meaning that she‘d had to kiss a lot of ass on his behalf).  And for a woman as proud as Emma Frost, well…she wouldn’t be letting Erik forget it any time soon.

So now, he’s pacing up and down the corridor, trying to walk off the discomfort and restlessness those memories are bringing up.  He doesn’t know why it’s bothering him, though—it’s old business, after all.  And it’s not as if he really did anything to be sorry for, right? _Right?_

As his restless pacing continues, he hears some faint strains of music and some rhythmic pounding coming from nearby. Not realizing that anyone else was even here yet, he decides to investigate. He hopes it’s not a fan that’s managed to sneak in.   He hates that. The sounds seem to be coming from a room at the end of the hall, so Erik approaches very quietly and pokes his head around the open door. What he sees roots his feet to the floor and he just stares, utterly fascinated. 

It’s Charles Xavier. 

More to the point, it’s Charles Xavier _dancing_. Rehearsing the dance choreography for his upcoming performance.  Erik can’t take his eyes off of the other man’s bending, swaying body as he performs a series of complicated dance moves in front of the studio’s huge mirrors.  Some of moves actually seem to defy gravity.  Erik is reluctantly envious of the ease with which Xavier moves.  He can’t help but notice how surprisingly fit Xavier looks when not completely encased in those sweaters and prep-wear for which he’s so famous.  Erik might have  offhandedly noticed how lean the other man is, but he’d never really considered that all the ‘bouncing about on stage’ might actually count as exercise. 

Almost disappointed when Xavier finally stops moving, Erik barely contains his gasp when Xavier ( _Charles_ , Erik’s traitorous mind sighs dreamily) lifts the hem of his T-shirt to wipe his sweaty face, exposing the pale skin of his flat, lightly-muscled abdomen.  Erik’s eyes nearly cross when Charles bends down to fiddle about with the stereo system, giving Erik a good look at his ass, lovingly encased in a pair of sweat-soaked athletic pants. The man’s ass is firm and well-muscled, rounded without being feminine.  Erik’s palms are suddenly just itching to cup and squeeze that perfectly-shaped ass—preferably with Xavier naked and bent over the nearest available surface.  Almost as if he could read Erik’s mind, Xavier (Charles, his mind sighs again) suddenly reaches out for the electrical cord to the stereo, stretching over the table, putting him in the exact position that Erik had just imagined.  Erik wonders if the rumors about Xavier being bisexual are true.  Anyone who dresses that natty would have to be ( _pleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease_ , Erik mentally begs).  He’s pretty sure that his eyes _do_ cross, when Xavier suddenly looks up and catches Erik’s eyes in the mirror.  Still bent over the table, Charles turns his head to look over his shoulder, pinning Erik with those bluer-than-blue eyes.  The only way this could be more perfect was if Charles was naked and Erik was actually fucking him right now. 

_Oh._   And if Xavier wasn’t looking at him like he was a cock-roach (the emphasis on _‘cock’_ clear in his gaze). 

Charles straightens up and turns around to face Erik, looking at him coldly, “Too damn good to shake my hand, but willing to lower those high and mighty principles enough to fuck me. Very admirable. Well, go to hell, Lehnsherr.”  Charles shoots him a two-fingered salute as he shoulders Erik aside and strides out. 

Once again, leaving Erik looking (and feeling) like a complete ass. 

 

 

 

“…And then…and _then_ , after undressing me with his eyes, he actually had the unmitigated gall to look insulted that I didn't gratefully fling myself on him! What a fucking _dick_ , Raven! Checking me out like I’m a…a…oh, I don’t even know…!”

“Hold on!  Hold on a minute!  You’re saying that Erik Lehnsherr—Erik ‘I’m-Real-Musician-and-You’re-Not’ Lehnsherr—came onto you?!!” 

“ _YES!!_ Have you not been listening?!  He came on to me.  Well, not in words, mind you.  But he was checking out my _arse_ , Raven!  I mean _really_ checking it out!”

“Are you sure, Charles?  I mean, maybe he saw you and just didn’t know what to say after the shitty way he’d treated you.  So, you know, he just…stared.   It’s not as if he’s not, like, all socially-demented and all…”

“I think you mean socially-challenged.”

“I know what I said.”

Charles gives her the side-eye, then shrugs.  "Ok, then.  Well, anyway…Raven—I don’t want to damage your psyche or anything—but I _know_ when someone wants to fuck me.  It was like he was expecting me to just bend over for him and beg him to take me, like…like some randy vixen from one of those pornographic romance novels you’re always reading!”

“Ewww!  Psyche officially damaged,” Raven grimaces.  “Oh, and thank you for ruining my reading material.”

“Sorry, Snoogins, but you had to find out sometime that I’m not a virg—”

“NOOOO!!!  I don‘t want to hear it!”  Raven shoves her fingers in her ears and runs around the room, laughing.  

“That's right!” Charles gleefully yells after her.  “Your brother’s virtue is no more!  I’m ruined!  Ruined, I tell you!  You’ll get no dowry for me!!!  I’m sullied, Snoogins!  Used goods!”

“Nooo!!!” Raven falls onto the sofa, clutching her stomach and gasping for air. “Oh the horror!  The shame!” she giggles.  “You know what this means, don’t you?”

Charles laughs.   “That you’re not allowed to read those horrible novels anymore...?” 

Raven smacks him with a sofa pillow.  “Those are _Historical Romances_ , I’ll have you know,” she says primly.

“Historical, my arse!”  Amidst Raven’s protests, Charles grabs a couple of books from a nearby shelf and reads: “ _The Highlander’s Secret Lust_ ;  _Hot Highland Knights_ \---nice play on words, by the way, but obviously never been to Scotland if they think it’s hot there; _Lust on the Moors_ ; _The Viking’s Raging Berserker Love_ ; _The Highlander Who Shagged Me…_ ” 

“You made those last two up!” Raven giggles. “Anyway, before you _so rudely_ interrupted me, I was going to say that this means that if Lehnsherr asks me for your hand in marriage, I’ll have no choice but to accept his offer.”

“Oh the horror!  The shame!  The incessant boredom!” Charles cries, dramatically swooning.  “Forever trapped in a loveless marriage with the world’s biggest dick!” 

“Oh, you’re not _that_ bad, Char— _ACK_!!!”  Raven is interrupted by a pillow to the face.

“Oh, you’re gonna pay for that one, Snoogins!”

“You know I’m just teasing, Sunshine!  Everyone knows Lehnsherr is the world’s biggest dick!”  Still giggling, Raven says slyly, “That’s what I _hear_ , anyway.” 

Charles looks at her suspiciously. “What did you hear?  What are you on about, Raven?” 

“Lehnsherr,” she says. “That he’s got a big…uh, you know…” she indicates her pelvic region and waggles her eyebrows.

“Where did you hear that!?” Charles is not intrigued.  He’s _not_.  He doesn’t care that Erik Lehnsherr has a big cock (or is gorgeous), he’s just indulging Raven‘s need to gossip. 

“Oh, around…” she says faux-casually.

“Like where?” he looks at her narrow-eyed. 

“Just…around," R aven answers with an evil smirk.  " Why are you so interested all of a sudden?”  she asks, narrow-eyed.  

_Oh, shite!_ “I just figure he would have bragged about it to everyone, if it was true.  He brags about everything else!”  There, that sounded plausible. 

Raven huffs a little, but then continues on grinning conspiratorially, “Well, Angel told me that she walked in on him once when he’d just gotten out of the shower.  She was dropping of his dry-cleaning.  She said that he was freakin’ HUGE!!”

_Oh, my._   Charles is really glad he’s sitting down.  “I’m sure she was exaggerating, Raven. I’m telling you—if he was all that, he’d be letting _everyone_ know.” 

Raven starts giggling again, “And here I thought you’d be over the moon to find out that your betrothed was so well-endowed.  Just think, it’ll be just like a romance novel, Charles!”

“Oh, yes!  I can see it now: _'H_ _ow I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love the Dick_ ’!  It will practically write itself.”

“Oh, you have to find another title, Sunshine.  That one’s already mine!”  Laughing hysterically, Raven whips out her phone and takes a photo of Charles’s horrified expression.


	3. The Next Day...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles wishes Erik wasn't such an ass, and his thoughts give a little insight into why he and Erik are the way they are. Meahwhile, Erik seeks Charles out with the intent to apologize. He really does...unfortunately, things don't go quite his way.

The next day…

 

"Dammit!” Charles runs his hands through his sweaty hair in frustration, after he messes up the dance steps… _again_.  The choreography for his upcoming performance _tomorrow_ was still giving him fits.  He’s always nervous about his performances, but this time it’s so much worse because he knows that Erik Lehnsherr will also be performing at the same concert.  Though he knows it’s an exercise in futility, Charles wants so badly to prove to Erik that, in his own way, he’s just as talented and dedicated to his music.  And if maybe he wants to impress Erik a little, too…well that will just be Charles’s little secret.

“Why does the stupid git have to be so gorgeous?”  Charles grouses to himself.  “It would be so much easier if he was ugly, then I could just ignore him and not think twice.  But, oh no, he just _has_ to look like a Greek god!”  He feels bad for thinking that way because he knows that a person’s looks are the least of who they are, Erik himself being proof of that:  he looks amazing, but he’s an awful person, in Charles‘s opinion.  Sad thing is, Charles had actually been a huge fan of Erik’s--until he’d actually met the man, that is.  Charles had all of his albums, but knowing now what an arse Erik was made it difficult for Charles to enjoy them anymore.

He had, of course, heard rumors of Erik’s less-than-stellar personality, but being the subject of many unfounded rumors himself, he tended not to put much stock in that kind of talk--it was just part of being famous, after all.  But finding out that the rumors were undeniably true (and to find out in such an unpleasant way) was a huge let-down.  He feels stupid now for having, in the past, defended Erik’s abrasive behavior on more than one occasion.  He knew what Erik had suffered when he’d still been under contract to Sebastian Shaw‘s label, and for that alone had cut him a lot of slack.

For years, Shaw had Erik trapped in what was thought in the industry to be an unbreakable contract.  Shaw had not only robbed him blind, but had withheld the rights to Erik’s music, claiming it to be intellectual property of the label.  So even though Erik had earned millions upon millions of dollars for the label and had garnered award after award, he had seen little of the profits and had little if any artistic freedom.  Charles had easily sympathized, having suffered similarly while under contract to his step-father’s label.  That Erik’s terminally-ill mother had passed away during the vicious court battle with Shaw had only made Charles feel for him even more.  He _may_ have even developed a little bit of a crush--after all Erik was the epitome of the tortured musician, right down to the motorcycle and leather jacket--and he wrote such beautiful music.

When Charles had discovered that they would both be playing at that charity event a few months back, he had been so excited to finally get to meet Erik.  He’d been beyond thrilled to see that the other man had been even more handsome in person, but then Erik had to go and ruin it all by opening his big, stupid mouth. He still had trouble believing how rude and obnoxious Erik had been to him at that press conference.  But really, it wasn’t really even that (Charles was used to people being rude, it was just part of being famous)--the rudeness had only been the straw that broke the camel‘s back.  No, what had gotten to him was the way that Erik had looked at him when he had tried to introduce himself.  Erik had looked at him with utter disdain, like Charles was _lesser than_ or something, like shaking Charles‘s hand would make him dirty.  Like Charles was _nothing_.  Erik had looked at him the way that Charles’s step-father had always looked at him. Without ever even saying a word, Erik had made Charles feel like that helpless little boy he used to be.  All of those painful memories had come rushing back and Charles had just lost it.

But the worst was yesterday, looking up and seeing Erik watching him with those lustful, heated eyes.  Like it had suddenly occurred to Erik that there was _one_ thing Charles might just be good for.  It was like he wasn’t even human, just a body to fuck.  It was one thing for fans to objectify him--he‘s perpetuating a fantasy (and at least they _do_ seem to like him).  But seeing that look from someone who you know actively dislikes you and has no respect for you?  Not pleasant at all.  Thank God he had never seen _that_ particular look in Kurt‘s eyes.  He’d barely survived his childhood, as it was-- _that_ kind of abuse would have been too much to bear (though he knows he would have found a way--he had Raven to protect).  Charles had mostly hated that for a split-second when his eyes had met Erik’s in the mirror, he’d wanted what Erik wanted, too.  But just in time, self-respect had reared it’s ugly head, saving him from hating himself later.

Not that Charles has any issues with sex.  He likes it just fine.  And though he doesn’t run about advertising it, he doesn’t hide the fact that he likes both women and men.  He knows that there are rumors, but he’s never officially confirmed them, preferring to keep the issue of his sexuality private.  He’s not ashamed or anything, he just wants to protect what little privacy he has, both for himself and his partner(s).  He’ll probably have to publicly come out as bi, though, because a paparazzi had snapped a photo of him and Tony Stark snogging at a party a few nights ago.  The photo was pretty blurry, but not so much that it could be played off.  Honestly, one would of think that they had gotten photographic proof of alien life, the way they were reacting.  But at the moment, Charles is just glad that the person who’d taken the photo hadn’t show up a few minutes earlier or they would have had a photo of Tony giving him a blowjob.  _A rather fantastic blowjob,_ Charles smiles fondly, remembering that night.  “I do believe I owe someone a thank you.”

And it’s just what he needs to relax, unwind…and not think about Erik Lehnsherr.

 

 

Meanwhile, Erik is sneaking, er… _walking_ , down the hall to the dance studio where he’d seen Charles practicing yesterday.  According to the schedule Erik had _appropriated_ , Charles should be there now, practicing.  He’s very nervous, this is something new for him.  He can do it though.  A simple apology surely can’t be _that_ hard.  _People do it all the time, I hear._

His palms are starting to sweat the closer he gets to the practice room.   _I can do this.  I can do this.  It’s just an apol…apol…  I can do this._ His heart nearly gives out when he sees Charles step out of the room.  Shirtless.

Just seeing a sliver of Charles’s pale, flat stomach yesterday had been enough to render Erik completely speechless.  Now, he thinks his brain may have just melted.  In clothes, Charles looks deceptively small and thin--with his shirt off, he looks… _Beautiful,_ is what Erik’s overtaxed brain finally manages to spit out. _Beautiful._ His brain turns that word over, examines it, and recognizes it as an actual word.  Ok.  _Beautiful_ will work just fine.

Erik can’t believe how broad Charles’s shoulders are…and, _Oh God, his ass_ … His athletic pants are riding low on his hips--the curve of his ass apparently the only thing keeping them from falling off.  Fortunately, Charles is facing away from Erik, making a phone call, and hasn’t seen him yet.  Erik is free to look his fill and hopefully regain some of his higher brain functions before Charles turns around.  He doesn‘t want to make a fool of himself…again.  Erik notices that his face feels funny and he realizes, to his horror, that it’s because he’s been grinning stupidly while ogling Charles.  His grin abruptly leaves his face when his brain goes back on line and he picks up the thread of Charles’s telephone conversation.

 

“Hey, Tony, it’s Charles…….Yes, I _know_ you have caller ID, but just because it’s my number doesn’t mean that it’s me calling you……Mmmm-hmmm, and how many times has Raven ‘borrowed’ my mobile…? Yes, that‘s what I thought…”

Charles leans one shoulder against the door jamb and crosses his arms.  Erik drools a little watching the play of muscles in Charles’s back and shoulders.

“…So, about the other night…….(Erik frowns when the mysterious Tony says something that makes Charles laugh)…….Yes, darling, the paparazzi _did_ get your good side, didn‘t they?….…Anyway, I was wanting to see if you were free right now…….You are? Excellent!”

Erik’s eyes nearly bug out when Charles’s voice drops to seductive purr. “…I do believe I owe someone a blowjob..…..Are you sure you don’t mind, Tony?……..Alright! Alright!” Charles laughs. “I’ll be there in a bit……”

Those rumors are true, Erik's brain happy-dances.  But realizing that he has stumbled into stalker-mode, he starts slowly backing down the hall, but stops when he hears Charles sigh and mention his name. “……I’m just a bit stressed is all……..Yeah, Lehnsherr is here, and no it’s not helping matters any……… _What!?  Shag him!?……._ Is that your answer for everything, Tony:  Shag him!?”

Erik is kind of starting to like that Tony fellow.

“…….Besides, if I was going to shag anyone, I figure you’d be volunteering for the job……..Well, you certainly pester me enough about it…….Yeah, that’s what I thought…..” Charles smirks.

Erik really hates that Tony fellow.

“………Alright, then.  I’ll be ‘round in a bit, Tony.  ‘Bye!”

    

In his haste to escape detection, Erik trips over his own feet and face-plants on the floor.  Charles spins around, once again pinning Erik in place with those eyes, which look even bluer due to the deep blush spreading over Charles’s face--and if Erik thought he looked beautiful from the back:  from the front, he was exquisite.  _Oooohhhh!  His chest!_

“How fucking long have you been standing there!?”  Charles looks a combination of embarrassed and furious.  A lovely combination of embarrassed and furious, Erik's brain notes. 

Erik’s own face is red, too.  He tries to answer, he really does.  He even opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.  He suspects that he is doing an excellent impression of a dying guppy.

“Well!?”

“Grk..!”

“Seriously?!”  Charles shouts.  “You treat me like shit, stare at my arse like I'm some kind of whore, and still act like you're too good to speak to me.  Now I suppose you're going to give me shit about being bi, eh!?”  He throws up his hands and stomps off down the hall, "I fucking give up!"

 

“Wait…”  Erik finally manages to squeak out, but it’s too late--Charles is gone.  Erik flops back onto the floor, now doing his best impression of a dead starfish. 


	4. That Evening...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik is confused and decides to bite the bullet and go to Emma for help--this leads to a trip down memory lane of how they ended up working together.
> 
> Tony points out to Charles that, sure Erik is a dick, but maybe, just maybe Charles might have over-reacted a little this time.

What seems like weeks later, Erik manages to peel himself off of the floor and slink away in humiliation.  _How could that have gone so wrong?_ And this time he didn’t even _do_ anything!  _Or did he?_ He didn’t even know anymore.  He was so confused.  He doesn’t even understand why he’s trying to talk to Charles anyway. The man constantly yells at him.  And he’d embarrassed him at that press conference, then yelled at him yesterday and told him to go to hell, then yelled at him again today and flounced out before even giving him a chance to explain!  All he does is yell!  _Except for that time he smiled at you and tried to introduce himself,_ his mind taunts him. _You wouldn’t shake his hand_ , _remember_?  Oh.  There was _that_. 

_Oh, God.  I need help._ And there was only one place he could turn.  _Emma._ He flops back down on the floor and groans _.  Oh, she was going to_ love _this…_

 

 

It was the stuff of legend that Emma Frost, once Sebastian Shaw’s protégé, had gotten Erik out of his supposedly unbreakable contract.  Seeing Erik breaking under the pressure of dealing with his mother’s illness while trying to keep up with Shaw’s ever-increasing demands on him, had struck a deep chord in the woman known in the industry as The Ice Queen.  It was a little late in life to be developing a conscience, but she supposed that it was better late than never.  It was time to stop turning a blind eye to what she knew was happening, and step up.

 

An attorney who specialized in contract law, Emma had scoured through Erik’s contract and finally found a loop-hole.  One so simple, that she had a hard time believing it at first:  the paperwork signed by Erik’s mother agreeing to the contract, had never been notarized (signature probably forged, though Emma was never able to prove it).  Since Erik had still been underage at the time he’d signed with Shaw, it meant that the that the contract was not legally binding.  Emma couldn‘t believe that no one had never noticed such a simple mistake--but then again, like her, they were probably willing to turn a blind eye as long as they were collecting a nice, fat paycheck.  When she started really looking at the accounts, she’d almost been sick when she realized how much of Erik’s money Sebastian had kept for himself--nearly all of it.  She’d known that Shaw was taking advantage of Erik, but she honestly hadn’t known that it was that bad.

 

She’d made copies of everything, arranged a meeting with Erik, and had sat him down told him everything.  His reaction had surprised her.  Instead of exploding like she’d expected (his go-to response), Erik had just sat there and nodded.  Emma will never forget the bitter little smile on his face as he said, “I already knew.  Shaw knows that I don‘t care about money, but my mother still needs medical care.  That’s what he’s been holding over my head.  He knows that I can’t afford to walk away.  Not while…not while she‘s still…” and there he finally broke down and cried.

Emma hadn’t know what to do.  Comforting people was way out of her league, so she had just sat there and let him cry (only later discovering that she’d inadvertently done exactly the right thing).  Finally he’d stopped crying and when he looked up at her, he’d said suspiciously, “Why did you tell me all of this?  Why now?  What are you getting out of this?”

Emma had been expecting the questions, but still didn‘t have real answer.  “I don’t know why.  I guess it was just getting harder and harder to look at myself in the mirror.  I truly didn’t know it was this bad.  I’m not a good person, so I’m not saying that it would necessarily have made any difference if I _had_ known, but…” she shrugged.

“What do you want from me, Emma?  No one does anything for free.”

“I don’t want anything from you.  At the risk of sounding disingenuous, I need my self-respect back.  I’ve given up a lot of that to stay in good with Sebastian Shaw.  And I grew to hate what he was doing to you.”  Emma shrugged again, “I‘m a proud person--something which I think you can appreciate--and I don‘t like feeling ashamed of my actions, or in this case, _in_ actions.”

“So now what?  You’ve given me all this information, but I’ve told you why I can’t use it.  I’m not sure that I would anyway.  When the time comes, I’m willing to walk away and let him have it all.”

“You’ve worked _hard_ for what you have, Erik.  _You_ write those songs.  _You_ play those instruments.  _You_ sing those lyrics.  You put your heart and soul into your music.  _You_ , Erik.  Not Shaw or anybody else--but there he is taking credit for _your_ music, saying that it’s ‘intellectual property’ of _his_ label.  He’s holding you back and keeping you from achieving your true potential.”

 Erik just looks at her.  “Emma, is there a point to this meeting?  So far, you’ve not told me anything I don’t already know.”

 “The _point_ is that we’re going to file a lawsuit against Sebastian Shaw and Shaw Records.”

Erik makes an exasperated noise, “I _told_ you that I can’t just wal--”

Emma surprises even herself when she interrupts with, “Don’t worry about your mother’s medical care, Erik.  I’ll cover what you can’t.  You won’t see any money from the lawsuit anyway--”

 “Then why--!”

“We’re going to take that bastard Sebastian Shaw to court to get you out of that contract and to get the rights to your music back.  Shaw is in violation of Coogan’s Law, but you won’t see any money--it’s probably gone, anyway--but that law also covers intellectual property.”

For the first time, Erik looks, not only interested, but almost hopeful.  “Do you really think that I can do that?”

Emma’s smile is every bit as scary as Erik‘s, “You can’t.  But I can.”

 

And the rest was history.

 

With Emma representing him, Erik had been released from his contract with Shaw Records and Shaw had been ordered to pay Erik an undisclosed sum of money (he never received any of it, Emma had been right about that part).  Most importantly, Shaw had to sign over the rights to Erik’s music--with the added bonus that Erik could now start collecting royalties.

Shaw had done everything he could to ruin Erik’s career and make sure that no other agencies would sign him, but his own reputation was so bad that no one believed him, and other labels jumped at the chance to sign Erik.  Emma, acting as both his attorney and his agent, had gotten Erik a lucrative new contract, one that gave him the artistic freedom he’d been denied by Shaw.  Soon Erik had left all of his previous achievements in the dust.  His one big regret was that his mother hadn’t lived to see it happen--she’d died while he was still battling it out with Shaw in court.

To his surprise, over the course of the whole miserable affair, Emma and his mother had become the best of friends.  Emma’s presence in his life had helped to fill some of the emptiness left by his mother‘s passing.  Though he would _never_ tell Emma (he and she just weren’t the warm-and-fuzzy types), somewhere along the way he had come to love her almost as much as he loved his mother.  Considering that she continued to put up with him, he suspected that she probably was fond of him as well.  Not that it would make her any more sympathetic to his current plight.

 

　

　

“…So then, I turn around, and there he is, Tony!  Lehnsherr!  He’d been eavesdropping on our conversation!  Staring at my arse again, no doubt.  So I just let him have it, I did.  Told him off and--”

“Yo, Charles!  Charles!”

“What?”

“Charles.  Listen to me.  You know I really, really want that blowjob you so generously offered, right?“

“Er…yes?“

“So if I do something that’s going to piss you off to the point where I know I won’t get that blowjob, it would have to be something I believed in pretty strongly, then right?“

Charles is frowning now, “Um, I suppose…?“

“First of all, you’ve told me this story three times, already.  Second, you’ve only been here _half an hour_ and you‘ve told me this story three times already.  Third, you’ve been here _half an hour_ and you haven’t stopped talking about Erik Lehnsherr long enough to even say hello.”

Charles can feel his face and ears turning red.  “Oh.  I--I’m sorry…I didn‘t realize…”

Tony looks at him regretfully, “And that’s not even the part that’s going to cost me my blowjob.”

Charles is back to frowning again. “ _That’s_ not the bad part?  How are going to piss me off, then, Tony?  Kick me in the nuts?”

Tony snorts, then sighs deeply, “Well, not literally.  But I _am_ going to say that you shouldn’t have gone off on Lehnsherr like that.  You over-reacted, Charles.”

Charles’s eyes bug out, “ _What!?_ Weren‘t you listening?!”

“Yes, I was listening.  And.  You.  Over.  Reacted.”

“I did not!  He’s an arse!”

“Yeah, I know he is--it’s common-knowledge, Charles. But this time, he wasn't _being_ an ass.  You over-reacted.  According to your story--which I must remind you, I’ve heard no less than three times in the last half-hour--you jumped his shit for no apparent reason, then finished up by essentially accusing him being homophobic.”

“But he was _looking at me_ , Tony!”

“Oh, for God’s sake, would you like some cheese with that ‘ _whine’_ ?!”  Charles gives him the finger.  “Of course he was looking at you!  The man is _gay_ , Charles! Which, if I’m not mistaken, is pretty much the opposite of homophobic.  Not to mention, you‘ve told me _at least_ a hundred times that Lehnsherr was drooling over your ass yesterday like you were the all-you-can-eat crab legs at the Chinese buffet.”

“But…but…” Charles flaps his hands around helplessly.  "I never said that!"

“I was paraphrashing.  Just go ahead and fuck him, Charles--get it out of your system.  You’ve had a boner for this guy forever.  Just because he turned out to be an ass-wipe doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun with him!  Just, I don’t know…tell him not to talk or something.”

“I do not have a boner for Erik Lehnsherr!”  _At the moment._

Tony sighs, put-upon, “Do you remember the first time we made out?  Kurt was out of town, we bribed Raven to stay in her room, then we raided the liquor cabinet, and…? ”  Tony grins.

Charles grins back, “Yeah, I remember.”

Tony smirks, “To ‘set the mood’, you had one of Lehnsherr’s CD’s playing in the background.  You _always_ did.”

Charles’s face falls and his shoulders slump.  “He hates me, Tony!  He doesn’t have any respect for me.  He’s only interested in the parts of me that don’t matter.”

Tony pulls him into a hug and rubs his back soothingly, “You don’t _have_ any parts that don’t matter, Charles.  You’re a great guy, and if Lehnsherr can’t see that, he’s not worth your time anyway.”

“Thanks, I guess,” Charles mumbles into Tony’s neck.

“No matter how big his dick is…”

“I hate you.”

“Does this mean I don’t get my blowjob?” Tony laughs, giving Charles puppy-dog eyes.

Charles rolls his eyes at Tony‘s pleading look, but grins and says, “A promise is a promise, I suppose.”  And proceeds to make good on his offer.

 

　

After Charles leaves--looking much more relaxed, Tony notes smugly (he‘d been kind enough to return the favor)--Tony grabs his cell phone and calls up Raven.

“Hey, Raven!  I need your help.”

“Who is this!?”

“It’s Tony!  Don’t you have caller ID?

“Yeah.  But that doesn’t mean it’s you calling me.”

Tony looks at his phone to make sure he didn‘t accidentally call Charles.  Nope.  “Do you and Charles mind-meld or something?”

“What?”

“Never mind.   But you gotta help me get Charles and Erik Lehnsherr hooked up.”

“The fuck, I do !!  I’m not fixing up my brother with that asshole!  He‘s been nothing but a dick to Charles!”

“But, Raven, Charles likes him.  _Really_ likes him.  And no, I don’t know why, but he does. And I think the smack down that Charles gave Erik at that press conference got Lehnsherr all hot for him.  I’m pretty sure that the other incidents Charles has been talking about incessantly--“

“OMG! He was looking at my ARSE!!”  Raven whines in a horrible English accent.

Tony laughs.  “Yeah!!  Anyway, I think Charles has got him all wrong.  Well, sorta wrong.  I mean, Lehnsherr is still a dick, but I’m pretty sure he likes Charles, too--he’s just too…too… _Lehnsherr_ to make the right move.”

“You really think so?”  Raven still doesn’t sound convinced.  “And how do you know Charles likes him?”

“You’re probably better off not knowing.”

“You’re probably right.”

“So, Raven, are you gonna help me make your brother happy or not?”

Raven sighs heavily, “I’m not so sure about this, but alright. But I swear to God, if you make a happy ending joke, I will reach through the phone and kill you.”

“I knew I could depend on you Snoogins!”

Raven laughs.  “Whatever, fucker!”  and hangs up. 

 


	5. The Night Before the Concert Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik breaks and goes to Emma for advice. Erik sort of listens and does something, if not right, at least not wrong.

At the tentative knock on her office door, Emma looks up and immediately regrets getting out of bed today. _Oh, God.  What has he done now?_ Eric is wearing his “little boy lost” look.  He only gets _that_ particular look on his face when he’s fucked up big time.  It takes more effort than is pretty to not lay her head on the desk and weep.  Her lips are _still_ chapped from all of the ass-kissing she had to do to smooth over the “Press Conference Incident” from a few months ago.  And the hell of it is that no matter how bad he’s gone and screwed up, she can't turn him away: she promised Edie that she would look after him (that Erik has become like a son to her is something that she‘ll keep to herself, as well as just how “close” she and Edie had really become--Erik would shit a brick if knew the truth).

Sighing deeply, she tells him, “Make it easy on both of us and just spit it out, Erik, so I can commence to whatever ass-kissing I have to do to fix whatever it is that you‘ve done.”

Erik’s face is turning red, he’s shuffling his feet, and his eyes are darting around, looking everywhere but at Emma.  She taps her fingers against the desk, waiting for him to reveal the horror of what he screwed up.  Just as she’s ready to wring his neck, he mumbles out a sentence.  The only word Emma manages to catch is _‘Xavier’_.

Her blood pressure sky rockets.  “Oh, God!  Erik _please_ tell me that you didn’t get into it with Xavier again!”

Erik gets a mulish, pissy look on his face (a look Emma knows well)--the look he gets when he feels he’s been unjustly accused.  “No, I didn’t!  I tried to apologize to him, but he won’t let me talk!  He just keeps yelling at me!”

Emma feels the universe slide sideways.  “ _You_ tried to _apologize_ to someone?!  And to _Charles Xavier_ of all people!?  _You_ \--You tried to apologize?  To _Xavier_?!”

“I tried!  But he won’t stop yelling at me, Emma!”

Still not quite believing her ears, Emma says, “Well, can you blame him after the way you talked to him, Erik?”

She feels guilty when Erik’s face falls and he looks so confused.  “But I tried to apologize, Emma!  Why won’t he let me?”

 _Oh, God._ “What _exactly_ did you say to him, Erik?”

More redness, shuffling, and darting eyes.  “Er…”

“Well, Erik?”

“That’s what I keep trying to tell you!  He won’t give me a chance to say _anything_!  I saw him a couple of days ago at the dance studio and I was going to apologize, but when he saw me watching him…”

Emma’s eyebrows climb into her hair, “You were watching him?  Watching him do what?”

Erik mumbles out, “He was dancing.  Then when he was finished, he was bent over this table and I--I…I couldn’t talk.  But _he_ could.  He told me to go to hell.”

Emma face-palms.  _God._ Of all of the people for Erik to start crushing on.  _Xavier._ She’d thought his relationship with that junkie bastard Azazael was bad enough, but _this_ …?  Knowing that she’s going to regret his answer, she asks anyway, “Then what?”

“Then I tried again this afternoon.  I went to see him, but he was talking to someone on the phone, but I couldn’t talk again.  Then he told the guy that he was talking to that he was going to give him a…a blowjob…and I tripped and…and I fell.  He wasn‘t wearing a shirt.”  He ignores Emma’s groan of anguish (and another noise that sounds suspiciously like a snort of laughter), and continues, “Then he just started yelling at me again and stomped off before I could say anything!”

Emma would rather have her eyes gouged out with a red-hot poker than have this conversation, but she‘d promised Edie.  “Erik, why are you suddenly so hot to apologize to Xavier?  You don’t even like the man.  You’ve made it abundantly clear--in high-def, no less--that you have absolutely no respect for him whatsoever.”

Erik looks distinctly uncomfortable, shoulders slumping.  “I don’t know.  He--he‘s…I don‘t know,” he finishes miserably.

Emma takes pity on him.  “Send him flowers.”

Erik looks at her like she’s lost her mind.  “What!?”

“Send him flowers.  That way you can apologize to him without having to speak to him until he‘s softened up a bit toward you.”

Erik looks a little less miserable.  “Do you really think that would work?”

“Probably not.  But it can’t hurt--unless he’s allergic to flowers.”

Erik looks terrified.  “How do I find out?”

“Well, there’s this thing called the ‘internet’, don’t know if you’ve ever heard of it…but you can find all kinds of inform--”

“Oh, bite me!”

“And while you’re at it, stop treating Xavier like he’s the bubonic plague of the music world. That might help your cause.”

“I can’t help it if he doesn’t write his own music, Emma!”

“If you can climb down off your high horse long enough, you might want to look up a few articles about Charles Xavier’s contract with Marko Entertainments. I think you’ll be surprised that you have more in common than you think.”

Erik snorts, “I doubt it.”

“There’s more to the man than a nice ass and a pair of pretty eyes, Erik.”  She notes how guilty Erik looks at this statement.  _Oh, good Lord, he’s got it **bad**.  _ She continues, “Until you figure that out, you’re not going to get anywhere with him.  And while you’re busy cyber-stalking Xavier, you should be sure and check into his past. If the rumors I’ve heard through the grapevine over the years are to be believed, the fact that he is so successful is a testament to how talented and hardworking he is.”

“What he does hardly looks like work to me!”  Erik says, even as his mind reminds him of how difficult Charles’s dance moves looked.

Emma looks him dead in the eyes, “Erik, take it from me that his contract with Kurt Marko’s label, made your contract with Shaw look like a cake-walk.  And though Xavier may not have _your_ level of talent, he has _earned_ everything he‘s ever gotten.”

She is relived to see that Erik has a thoughtful look on his face, instead of the ’I’m an utter asshole’ look he’d been wearing.  Her next words are almost affectionate, “I’ve got work to do, Erik.  Now go do your cyber-stalking and leave me the hell alone.”  As he snorts out his good-bye and walks out, she reminds him, “And don’t forget to practice for your performance tomorrow!”

Erik gives her the finger and stalks off.  This apologizing shit is for the birds, but if that’s what it takes to get Charles to stop yelling at him… Well, never let it be said that Erik Lehnsherr wasn‘t afraid to be the better man.  Now time to do some research.  And order some flowers.  Emma had been onto something with that. Erik may lose the power of speech around Charles, but one thing that Erik _could_ do was _write (_ though for someone as emotionally stunted as Erik, he may be overestimating himself).

 

　

　

 

 

Charles is staring dumb-founded at the enormous basket of flowers that had just been delivered to the dance studio where he had been practicing.  It wasn’t the basket of flowers that had him dumb-founded so much as the card that had accompanied it:

 

Charles,

 

I’m sorry for being such a dick.

 

Erik

 

　

　

 _“Well,”_ Charles thought, _“That was certainly short, sweet, and to the point.”_ But what did he mean by it?  Sorry for which awful thing about which he’d been a dick? The confusion still didn’t stop Charles from making an undeniably girly sigh at the awkward gesture (he was glad that neither Raven or Tony were about to hear it).

 


	6. The Night Before the Concert, Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles discusses Erik's note with Raven. Erik does a little research and is surprised at what he finds out when he digs into Charles's past. The advent of "The Note" forces Raven and Tony to alter their plans for "Operation Cupid", now renamed by Raven as "The Kobiashi-Maru of Romance"--inadvertantly triggering Tony's 'Star Trek' kink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, I somehow, without even trying, managed to get in references to the Kentucky Derby, Invader Zim (the most awesome cartoon EVER), Lethal Weapon, Star Wars, Star Trek, and Shakespeare/Star Trek. I was going to try to Rick-roll, but I just couldn't fit it in the story. An impossible dream, but I'm never gonna give you up, never gonna say goobye...BAZINGA!!! (a BBT bonus) :D
> 
> What can I say? It's a gift.

     Raven is reclining on the sofa, going over the fine details of the “Operation Cupid” strategy that she and Tony had come up with earlier that evening, when she hears something thudding against the front door.  She tries to ignore the noise, thinking that it’s fans, or birds, or something like that.  She’s got some very important meddling…er, _work_ to do and she can’t afford to be interrupted right now.  _I can’t hear you, crazy fans!  Go away, I can’t hear you! Lalalalala!_

     But when she hears Charles yelling, “Dammit, Raven!  Open the door!”  she jumps up in alarm and races to the door, thinking that he’s being attacked by fans or paparazzi--only to be surprised when she throws open the door and Charles staggers in carrying an _enormous_ basket of flowers.

     “Jesus, Charles!  You look like you won first place in the Kentucky Derby!”  she snorts.

     “Just give me a hand,” he gasps irritably, struggling to stay upright under the weight of the huge basket.  “Don’t even _think_ about it,” he glares, forestalling her applause (well, she _thinks_ he’s glaring--she can’t really see him behind the all of the flowers).

     “You‘re no fun anymore,” she grouses, dropping her hands.

     A weary, put-upon sigh emanates from somewhere behind the basket, “Just help me get this god-awful monstrosity to the kitchen, please.  It’s heavy as fuck and I can’t see anything right now!”

     “Oh, alright!  Here, I‘ll take this side.”  She takes the weight of her side of the basket, “Oh, God!  My back!  My hernia!”

     “You don’t have a hernia!”  Charles grunts.

     “I _didn’t_ have a hernia!”  Raven grunts back, her heart-felt glare wasted since Charles couldn’t see her to fully appreciate it.

     They slowly, painfully shuffle toward the kitchen, both of then grunting and cursing--whether at each other or the heavy basket, they couldn’t say.

     “How did you get this fucking thing up here by yourself!?”  Raven gasps out.  “There are _cars_ that don’t weigh this much!”

     “I don’t know,” Charles gasps.  “Sheer force of will, I guess.  But I think I broke my squigglyspooch coming up the stairs.”

     Raven nearly collapses under the weight of the basket, when she starts snorting uncontrollably.  “Long live Invader Zim!”  she manages to gasp out.

     Charles is snorting now, too.  And losing his grip on the basket.  “Please tell me that we’re almost to the kitchen!  I don’t think I can hold out much longer!”

     “We’re here, Charles!  Now what?”

     “We’ll count to three and lift it onto the counter.  Ready?  1, 2...--”

     “Wait!”

     “What, Raven!?”  Charles yells frantically, his grip starting to slip.

     “Are we lifting on three or are we counting to three _then_ lifting or…?”

     “Lift on three!!!  Hurry!!!”

     “Alright!  Don’t get your shorts in a wad!”

     “RAVEN!”

     “OK!!!   _God!”_

     “NOW, Raven!!! 1...2...3!!!”

**_"Hurrrnnnnggggghhh!!!!”_** They both yell as they lift the enormous basket and slide it onto the counter.  Then they collapse against each other and slide to the floor in an exhausted, sweaty heap.  After determining that they are both still alive and relatively undamaged--in spite of Raven’s insistence that she “broke her hernia” (prompting Charles’s reply of, _“You and your inferior human organs!”,_ which sets them both to laughing until their stomachs hurt)--Raven brings up the subject of the flowers.

     “I was going to ask where that, that _thing_ came from, but considering the sheer amount of inconvenience and dumb-fuckery involved, I’m going to go out on a limb here:  Lehnsherr?”

     Charles sighs in defeat and fishes the card out of his jeans.  He looks at it for a moment, fighting back the urge to girly-sigh again (the card was just so stupid and sweet), then dutifully hands it over to Raven, who has been impatiently making grabby hands.  He watches as she looks at it, her eyebrows raised in surprise.

     “Well,” she finally says, “he doesn’t mince words, does he?  _‘I‘m sorry for being such a dick.’_   Is this an apology or a general statement of fact?  It certainly covers a lot of territory for Lehnsherr.”  While Charles is busy looking at the ceiling in contemplation, she quickly snaps a photo of the card and texts it to Tony.

     Finally Charles says, “Considering the flowers, I think it’s supposed to be an apology.  For what, I’m not entirely certain.  Sorry for the whole press conference thing or for being such a shit, or for ogling me like a tramp, or what?  Maybe all of that…”

     “I dunno, Charles.  Maybe it was attempted murder.”  At his startled look, she says, snorting, “If that basket of flowers had fallen on you, I would never have been able to find you in time--you would have been pushing up daisies, literally _and_ figuratively.”

     Charles gives her the finger.

     “Of course this _is_ Lehnsherr, we’re talking about,” she adds.  “He has no concept of interpersonal relations.  It‘s hard to tell what he meant by it.”  She looks thoughtful, “Maybe he _is_ trying to woo you, Charles.  Maybe that big, giant basket of flowers is his way of being subtle--maybe it just didn‘t seem that big to _him_ since, you know, he‘s so used to “big” things…” Raven giggles, waggling her eyebrows.  Then she sighs, “Now, I’m gonna have to lie and tell him that you’re a virgin so I can get that dowry for you.”

     Charles gives her big, faux-wounded kitten eyes, “You’d give me to Lehnsherr and his big dick just for a dowry?”

     “Ew!  Well, when you put it like that…” Raven gives him a big hug and ruffles his hair.  Then snorts out a laugh, “Gross as it is, Sunshine, I gotta marry you off sometime.”

     Charles hugs her back, “I thought it was my responsibility to see _you_ married off to a good home, Snoogins.  And just as soon as you turn 35, you can start having chaperoned dates.  Unless…” he growls, “the Squish Monster gets you first! Raaawwrrrrr!!!!!!”

     “ACK!!!  My HERNIA!!!!”

     “Bwahhhahahahah!!!!”

 

　

　

 

 

　

     Erik hopes that Charles likes the flowers he sent.  He’s a little worried that the basket wasn’t big enough.  He hopes, too, that the card was enough.  He wasn’t really sure which bit of dick-ness that Charles was the most angry over, so he just tried to keep it simple and cover everything with a general statement.

     He probably has a couple of hundred crumpled up pieces of paper littering the floor, from where he’d tried and failed to say what he needed to say.  Some things he’d written were a little too simplistic, but most were a little too _revealing_ for Erik’s comfort.  He also didn’t think that Charles would appreciate some of the more, er…pornographic scribblings regarding Charles’s lush, red mouth or the perfection that was his ass.  And the notes about Charles’s eyes had made Erik sound like a deranged stalker.  He’d never before had so much trouble trying to express himself.  He was just so overwhelmed.

 

     It was all Emma’s fault.  Erik had followed her advice about doing some research into Charles Xavier.  The information hadn’t been easy to find, because Charles kept his private life private and didn’t talk about his past.  What Erik had managed to find out, so far, made him feel ashamed of the way he’d always regarded Charles.  He’d seen him as nothing more than a pretty rich boy, whose way into the business had been greased by money.

     Emma had been right.  Charles’s contract with Kurt Marko had been far worse than Erik’s contract with Shaw.  The terms of the contract had made him wince in sympathy--and that was _before_ he’d found out that Marko was also Charles’s step-father.  Erik knew that Shaw had ripped _him_ off, but what Marko had done to Charles….at least Erik hadn't had to _live_ with Sebastian Shaw.

 

     Emma hadn’t been kidding when she’d said that everything Charles had, he’d earned.  Marko had used his status as Charles’s step-father and business manager to gain Power of Attorney over all of his assets, somehow gaining access to the fortune that Charles’s father had put in trust for him--and went through everything.  There was nothing left of the vast Xavier fortune, which would have made Charles a billionaire when he turned 25.  When he’d turned 18, he’d walked from Marko Entertainments, with literally nothing to his name but a little sister to take care of and the clothes on their backs.  If rumor is to be believed, when Marko had threatened to sue, Charles had just laughed and said, “Sue me for what?  I don’t _have_ anything.  You made sure of that.  Besides, we both know you’re not going to take me to court.  I’ve kept my silence for this long, but if you try to make any problems for me or Raven, I’ll tell _everything_.”

     Erik had also read that because of Marko’s reputation, no one had been willing to sign Charles to a new label, even though Charles, himself, had a good reputation and was generally well-liked. He’d doggedly continued to look for work, his perseverance paying off in the end, when he’d gotten an offer to sign with a new, smaller label, Quested Records. It hadn‘t been a lucrative contract by any means, but he’d had a sister to take care of--so _any_ money was better than no money. That had been 8 years ago, and (like Erik had done) in that time Charles had rebuilt his career and helped put Quested Records on the map as a major label. Charles was fiercely loyal to the label’s owner, Janos Quested, for giving him a chance when no one else would sign him. Janos had, in turn, repaid Charles’s loyalty and hard work by increasing his contract more and more as the label became more successful (and had, unbeknownst to anyone but Charles and him, had made Charles part-owner).

 

     Ok, so maybe Charles wasn’t a musical genius like Erik, but it seems that there was still a lot to be admired and the more Erik is finding out, the more impressed he is by Charles.  He had been so focused the music not being up to his admittedly astronomical standards that he had dismissed Charles out of hand, never bothering to really see the man…well, except to drool over his looks (the very looks which Erik also scorned).  Thus, explains the hundreds of crumpled, discarded notes lying everywhere--even as gifted as Erik is, he can’t find the words to express how he feels.  Everything is just too new and jumbled up and chaotic.  The one thing that he was absolutely clear about was that the he’d been a dick and that he was sorry.  So that’s what he went with--he hoped it would be enough for now.

     Time to try and get some rest before his big performance tomorrow--and rest up for the concert, too.

 

　

　

     Later…

 

　

     Charles is trying to sleep (he‘s got a busy day tomorrow), but he’s too keyed up.  He’s nervous about his performance, plus he’s all confused and excited over the note that Erik sent him.  What did he mean, exactly?   _If only I knew what he wanted from me, besides sex…_

     If it was _just_ sex, Charles would be totally on board, but he simply can’t bring himself to be with someone who doesn’t respect him.  He’s been down that road before and doesn’t care to do it again.  _No matter how big their dick may be._ He can’t figure out why he still has this thing for Lehnsherr, even though he’s proven to be such a jerk.  So what if the man is utterly gorgeous, and sexy, and obscenely talented, and has abs that Charles wants to lick every inch of...

     …And writes the most stupidly sweet, awkward apologies.   Charles groans in misery and covers his face.  _Oh God.  I am_ so _fucked._

 

　

　

 

 

     “Raven, why did you text me a note telling me that you’re sorry for being a dick?  You‘ve never apologized for it before.”

     “That’s because _I’m_ not sorry.  And that wasn’t me, Dumbass!  That was a photo of the note that Lehnsherr sent to Charles--along with the most enormous basket of flowers I’ve ever seen!”

     “ _Lehnsherr_ sent that note to Charles?  And, seriously, _flowers_?!”

     “Seriously.  It took _both_ of us to carry it through the apartment.  I don’t know how Charles got that thing up the stairs by himself.  I broke my hernia, helping him carry it!”

     “Um, Raven, you can’t ‘break’ a hernia.”

     “Can.”

     “Can’t.”

     “Can, too.  But whatever.  I hate to say it, but you were right, Tony-- Charles _does_ really like him.  He was trying to play it cool, but he was swooning, Tony. _Swooning!_ I‘ve never heard a girlier-sounding sigh in my life--and I‘m a girl!”

     “You are?  I hadn’t noticed.”

     “You’re determined to be on my shit-list, aren’t you?  Now focus, Tony.  Flowers and stupid notes aside, Lehnsherr is still a dick.  He may be sorry that he‘s a dick, but that doesn‘t make him less of one.”

     “It seems like he’s _trying_.”

_“ Do or do not--there is no try.”_

     “Don’t use ‘Star Wars’ logic on me.”

     “Why not?  Normal logic doesn’t work on you.”

     “You know I‘m all about the ‘Trek.”

     “Fine, then.  Consider this situation ‘The _Kobiashi-Maru_ of Romance‘.  An impossible, no-win situation.  How do we Kirk this shit out and turn the odds in our favor?”

     “Oh, baby!  Hearing you talk ’Trek is getting me so hot!”

     “I fucking hate you, you perverted fucking nerd!  Is _that_ getting you hot?”

     “Oh, don’t be like that, Raven!”

     “You’re lucky I’m used to your inconsiderate ass.”

     “Right back at you.”

     “Bite me.  Now what do we do about getting Charles and ErDick together?”

     “Hey!  I’ve got an idea!”

     “‘ _Angels and ministers of grace, defend us!’’_ ”

     “ _’Hamlet. Act 1, Scene 4‘._ Oh, Raven--'Star Trek IV'!  My favorite!  You really know how to turn a man on!”

     “Talk, you miserable fucker, before I reach through the phone and kill you with my bare hands.  How’s that turning you on?”

     “Jeez!  Try to give a girl a compliment…”

      Raven growls.

     “Alright!  Alright!  Calm down!  So here’s what we do…”

 

 


	7. The Day of the Concert…Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik and Charles pout and sigh like little emo bitches. Their long-suffering loved ones weary of it. Raven decides to up the stakes: Erik may be a dick--but if Charles wants him, Charles is going to have him. No matter who she has to coerce. Because Raven's awesome like that (just ask her). Emma comes to a similar decision regarding Erik: he may be a dick--but Erik wants Charles, so Erik's going to have him.
> 
> Actually not a lot happens besides the sighing and bitching--but it sure sounds good doesn't it? Mostly it's just a nice set-up for the next chapter. ;D

 

 

Erik is pacing…pacing….pacing…pac--

 

”Would you sit down, please?!  You’re about to drive me insane,” Emma tells him, looking ready to murder.

“I’m sorry.  I’m just nervous.”  He looks away to avoid making eye contact.  “You know, about the concert.”

“Bullshit, Erik.  You’ve never been nervous over a performance in your life.  That’s why I have to book stadiums--so that there’s room for your ego to run free,” she comments dryly, ignoring the glare Erik shoots her.  “Now tell me what’s really bothering you.  Never mind,” she cuts him off as he goes to speak, “you don’t have to tell me--it’s Xavier, isn’t it?”

 “Of course not!”  Erik blusters.  “I mean, why would I…”  At Emma’s knowing smirk, his shoulders slump.  “Ok.  Maybe a little.”

He looks so miserable that Emma has an uncharacteristic urge to hug him.  Fortunately for both of them, the urge passes.  “I take it you followed my advice and did a little research?”

“Yeah.”  Erik looks wracked with guilt.  “Emma, I had no idea…”

“Did you send the flowers?”

“Yeah.”  He pulls out his phone and shows Emma a picture of the basket he sent.  When Emma doesn’t say anything, he asks nervously, “It wasn’t enough was it?  I _knew_ I should have sent something bigg--” he breaks off when he sees Emma’s shoulders shaking.  “What’s wrong with it!?”

Trying to hide the tears of laughter welling up in her eyes, Emma manages to choke out, “Nothing.”

“Are you sure?” he asks hopefully.

“Erik, if that didn’t capture Xavier’s attention, I don‘t know what would.”  Not sure she wants to hear the answer because she doesn’t think she can hold out much longer, Emma asks, “Did you send a card?”

Shifty-eyes.  “Er…yeah.”  He tells what he wrote.

Emma nods carefully, face blank.  “Well, it’s certainly honest.  I think Xavier will appreciate that.”  She starts pushing him out the door, “Go on and warm up for your performance.”  Adding, “Now!”  when he starts to protest.

 

Walking away from Emma’s office, Erik pretends for the sake of their relationship that he doesn’t hear the muffled howls of laughter coming from behind the closed door.

 

　

_That fucking basket could’ve doubled as a small island_ , Emma thinks wiping at her eyes. _I’ve_ got _to do something. He’s going to mess this up if he doesn’t get some serious help._

Emma is a little unsure how to proceed, though.  Except for sabotaging his relationship with that crack-addled leech, Azazael ( _that_ was an emergency), Emma has never truly meddled in Erik’s personal life.  This is all new territory.  If she messes up, Erik gets hurt.  Smoothing things over and fixing his fuckups or dealing with his day to day shit was one thing, but this… Hmmm, time to put on her thinking cap.  Ah-ha!  _The sister!_  

　

　

　

“ _Charles!_ Aren’t you ready yet!?  The driver is here to take you to the concert hall so you can practice!”  Raven stomps into the kitchen, stopping dead when sees spots Charles.  “Oh, you’ve _got_ to be kidding me!”

Charles looks around at Raven, “What?”  he ask innocently, blinking at her--eyes looking enormous and very blue.

“You were sniffing those flowers!”

“I wasn’t!”  he says indignantly, and blinks at her--eyes now _wounded,_ enormous, and very blue.

“Totally were.”

"I most certainly was not!”

Raven smirks at him. “Then why do you have pollen on your nose, Charles?”

His face flushes.  “I… _tripped_.”  Blink.  “And…fell in them.”  Blink.

Raven rolls her eyes and snorts.  “RIght!  If you fell in that thing, you still be trying to find your way out."  She points at his eyes, "And save it for your fans, Sunshine.  You know that doesn‘t work on me.”  _Most of the time._

“Whatever do you mean?”  Blink, blink.

More eye rolling.  “The eye thing.  And don’t change the subject:  you were sniffing those flowers ErDick sent you!”

“ErDick’?” Charles snickers.

Raven just looks at him, not letting him change the subject.

He sighs, “Ok. I was smelling the flowers.  What’s wrong with that?  They’re so pretty.  And there’s so _many_ of them…” He shrugs, sheepish and guilty-looking.

Raven snorts again.  “That is certainly true.”  Then she sobers up and gives him a sympathetic look.  “You really like him, don’t you?  I mean, in spite of the fact that he’s an epic asshole and all?”

Charles looks sad.  “Yeah.  Yeah, I do.  That’s what’s so shitty about all of this!  If I thought that he had any real respect for me, I…” he sighs again.  “But I don’t want to be with someone like that.”

Raven can’t stand seeing him like this.  “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but that massive shit-load of flowers and that stupid card, seem to be his dysfunctional way of _trying_.  Trying _what_ , I don’t know, but it’s…something, anyway.  If that makes any sense…?”

Charles hugs her.  “Not really. But thanks for trying, Snoogins.” 

Raven hugs him back.  _Oh, I haven’t even_ started _trying yet._

“Hey, we better get going," Charles tells her.  "Driver’s probably not happy with us for making him wait.”

“That’s what I was _trying_ to do, when I caught you humping that flower basket!”  Raven says.  Then she runs away shrieking laughter, Charles chasing after her.

 

In the car, Raven texts Tony letting him know that plans have changed--again (Tony would roll his eyes, but he's afraid she'll sense it).  Raven informs him that they weren’t just trying to get Charles laid by his crush anymore.  Oh, no.  They were going for the big prize now:   Happily Ever After.

 

And they were going to need Emma Frost’s help.

 


	8. The Day of the Concert, Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles plays the media like a violin. Raven and Tony join forces with Emma.

　

“Tony!” Charles smiles, happily surprised when Tony climbs into the back of the car.  “You said that you wouldn’t be able to make it to the concert.  That’s why you wrote such an obscenely huge check for my charity, I thought.”

 

“I wrote an obscenely huge check because I’m obscenely rich,” Tony says as he hugs Charles (taking the opportunity to glare at Raven over Charles’s shoulder, giving her the finger when she smirks and mouths, “Nerd!”).  Still hugging Charles, Tony adds, “It’s just that, what kind of friend would I be if I can’t make time for things important to the people I care about, right?”

 

“You’re a great friend, Tony.”  Charles hugs him again (Tony is still glaring at Raven, who‘s starting to look a little guilty now).  “I‘m really glad the two of you are here to run interference.  Janos called earlier and said that the paparazzi are out in force.  No doubt hoping that I’ll lose it again,” he sighs, looking disgusted with himself, “and beat Erik Lehnsherr to death with his own ego.”

 

Raven and Tony start snorting.  “Oh, my God!  That image is priceless!”  Raven gasps.  “Lehnsherr’s ego is the only thing massive enough to do him any damage.”

 

“Well, only one of _two_ things…” Tony says, waggling his eyebrows.  Then he and Raven dissolve into fits of laughter, describing increasingly ludicrous scenarios of Charles beating Erik Lehnsherr to death with his own dick.

 

_Oh, God help me._ Charles blushes furiously and sinks down into the seat, praying for deliverance from whatever sin he committed to deserve this torture.

 

　

　

　

As the car pulls up to the venue where the concert is being held, Charles sees that Janos wasn’t exaggerating:  the paparazzi are in a frenzy.  They rush the car, screaming questions at Charles as the security team is trying to get him though the crowd.

 

     “…Are you and Tony Stark dating now?”

     “What about Moira MacTaggart…?

     “Are you coming out as gay?!”

 

He tries to ignore the questions, and is almost inside the building when one of the reporters finally breaks through the crowd and shoves a microphone in front of his face, asking, “What about your feud with Erik Lehnsherr, Charles?  Is that going to affect your performance here?”

 

_Oh, good God! I fucking knew it!_ “Lehnsherr?” Charles looks convincingly disinterested and slightly confused, “Feud?  Oh, you mean that press conference nonsense?  Are you still on about that?  That’s _old_ news, darling.”

 

The reporter looks disappointed at Charles‘ seeming disinterest, and tries again.  “Well your exchange with Lehnsherr _was_ pretty heated.  I don’t ever recall you losing your temper with anyone before, Charles.”

 

Charles shrugs and says, “Everyone has an off day, love.  That was apparently mine.”

 

The reporter persists, trying to get _some_ kind of salacious gossip material.  “So are the rumors about you and Tony Stark true, then _?”_

 

Charles glances over at Tony.  “Are the rumors about us true, Tony?”  _Help me_ , his desperate eyes are saying.

 

Tony rises to the occasion.  He grins rakishly at the reporter, asking, “Which rumors would those be?  I’m the subject of so many that you’ll have to be a little more specific.”

 

Charles has meanwhile slipped off his sunglasses, and the combined attack of his gorgeous blue eyes and Tony’s devilish grin has the reporter stammering, “Er…uh…the, um, the rumors…about you two…you know….the…the…er…” trailing off, seemingly mesmerized (along with the other reporters, the crowd, the viewing audience, the birds in the sky…), when they double grin at him.

 

“Oh!  You mean _those_ rumors!”  Charm on full-blast, Charles winks and says teasingly, “Sorry, darling, but I never kiss and tell.”

 

“ _I_ would,” Tony grins, slinging an arm around Charles’ shoulders, “but Charles would get mad.”

 

Off to the side, Raven plays her part, rolling her eyes in disgust and mimes gagging, mouthing, _“Gross!”_

 

The reporters and crowd laugh at their antics, and Charles relaxes a bit, knowing that the paparazzi are now his to command.  But once they’ve thoroughly charmed everyone and gotten safely inside, Charles takes a deep, shaking breath and slumps against the wall.  “I fucking _hate_ those people sometimes!”

 

Tony and Raven glance at each other, worried--Charles must a lot more stressed out than he’s been letting on.  He usually doesn’t say stuff like that, especially out where someone might hear him.  “Charles, are you alright?” Raven asks.

 

He looks at them, startled, like he didn’t realize that he’d spoken out loud or had forgotten they were there.   He gives them what they know is his fake smile.  And the eyes.  “Of course, I’m alright!”  Blink.  “Why wouldn’t I be?”  Blink.

 

“Charles, what did I tell you about the eye thing?  Just this morning, in fact,” Raven reminds him.

 

Blink.  Blink.

 

“And you don’t think we know your fake smile from your real one?”  Tony asks.

 

Charles responds with another slow blink, accompanied by a light flush spreading across his cheeks.  _There, that usually works._ Raven and Tony just look at him.

 

He sighs in defeat, “I’m sorry, guys.  I didn’t sleep well last night and then paparazzi really caught me off guard.  I just didn’t want to worry you.”  To their relief, this time he gives them a real (albeit, tired) smile, “Now get out of here--I’ve got to go rehearse.  You two go find something to do in the meantime.  And _do_ try to stay out of trouble,” he says, unable to help but laugh.  “One of you alone is bad enough.  Together, I shudder to think of the trouble you’re capable of causing…” and he walks away, completely missing the guilty look passing between Raven and Tony.

 

　

　

　

　

Even though Charles walked away from them smiling, Tony‘s still a little worried.  “Raven, I think maybe we should slow this down a lit--” Tony cuts himself off when Raven whirls around, giving him the crazy-eyes.  He holds his hands out, slowly backing away.  “OK!  OK!  Relax.  I’m not saying that we should abandon the plan.  Just that maybe we should, you know, re-think things…”

 

“No!  We’re doing this, Tony!  You got me!?”  She glares at him.  “That wasn’t a rhetorical question, Tony…” she waits for his reluctant nod of assent.  “Ok, then!  Now let‘s go hunt down Emma Frost.  She’s gonna help us get Erik and Charles together, even if we have to bribe or blackmail her into doing it.  _What,_ Tony?!  Why are you looking at me like that?!  I don’t have time for your shit right now,” she growls.  “Frost’s uptight-assed, stuck-up self is bound to be lurking around somewh-- _AHHHGGGHHHH!!!_ ”

 

“You were saying, Ms. Xavier…?”  Emma asks, smirking at Raven‘s horrified look.

“Well, fortunately for you, I’m needing your help as well, so I’m willing give you a one-time pass.”  Her tone makes it clear that she won’t be letting Raven forget it, either.

 

Raven whirls on a terrified Tony, hissing, “Why didn’t you say something, you useless nerd!”

 

He tried to tell her, but she wouldn’t listen, and anyway, he’s afraid to tell Raven that he more afraid of Emma than of her than her.  All he can manage is a strangled squeak, in response.

 

Raven rolls her eyes and throws her hands up in disgust.  “Oh, yes, Tony!  Thank you.  That’s very helpful.  NOT!”

 

　

“Ahem…” their heads snap around at Emma’s cough.  She looks down her nose at them, clearly annoyed, “If you two are finished with your sick idea of foreplay, we have actual business to discuss.  Namely, getting my emotionally-stunted charge laid by your goody-two-shoes brother.  I don‘t know about you, but I‘m pretty much at the end of my endurance for listening to post-adolescent angst.”

 

“Amen to that!”  Raven and Tony chorus.

 

“I don’t know why,” Raven says, “but Charles really likes Erik--even if Erik _is_ an epic asshole to him.”

 

“Well, that’s half the battle,” Emma says.  “But…”

 

“…but,” Raven continues, serious now, “the fact that Erik doesn’t respect him is tearing Charles apart.  I don’t know how much you know of Charles’s background, but he has spent his whole life trying to make other people happy and, hopefully, gain their approval.  All he’s ever asked for himself was to be treated decently. Charles is a good person and more than anything else on this earth I just want him to be as happy as he‘s made the people around him.  But he wants Erik, so Erik is going to have to get a serious attitude adjustment--or he can kiss any chance of being with my brother ‘bye-bye‘.”

 

Emma’s expression is difficult to interpret at first, then her face softens and she says, “I want the same for Erik--and if you ever tell him that, I will deny it.  Believe me, I know better than anyone what an insufferable dick Erik can be, but he‘s really not a bad person.  I don’t know how much you know of Erik’s background, but he’s spent _his_ whole life trying to prove to everyone that he’s not a victim, that he‘s tough and strong.  He wears that persona like a shield to keep himself from being hurt.  He’s worn it for so long that he forgets he’s not really that cold, hard person he pretends to be.”  She looks at Raven, “Don‘t be so quick to write him off.  He really only wants the same thing as Charles:  to be loved and respected.”

 

“What I can’t figure out, is what changed?  For Erik, I mean.  Charles has _always_ had the hots for Erik--at least until that fucking press conference--but Erik has always despised Charles.”  Raven looks guilty.  “I didn’t want to hurt Charles’s feelings by telling him the kind of shit that Erik said about him.  So what changed?” she asks again.

 

Tony finally contributes to the conversation, “I _told_ you, Raven.  It was that smack-down that Charles gave Erik at that press conference.  He stood up to Lehnsherr and it got Lehnsherr all hot for him.”

 

“I--”

 

Cutting of Raven’s protest, Emma says thoughtfully, “As much as it pains me to say it, I think that Junior Mint here may be onto something.  Xavier certainly took the wind out of Erik’s sails that day.  I’ve definitely noticed a change in him since then.  Did you know that he actually tried to _apologize_ to Charles?  I‘ve never heard of Erik apologizing to _anyone_ besides his mother.” Emma looks vaguely incredulous. Then she starts snorting, “And, oh my God, that basket of flowers…!”

 

“…and that note!”  Raven giggles.  “You should have heard the way Charles sighed when he read it!  He sounded like a 12 year-old girl with her first crush.  Then this morning, I caught him sniffing the flowers--it looked like a scene from Little Shop of Horrors.  I thought the thing had eaten him!”

 

Wiping tears of laughter from her eyes, Emma tells Raven and Tony, “I think it’s pretty clear that those two are meant for each other.  It’s just a matter of logistics. Let’s go plan our strategy.”

 


	9. The Concert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raven, Tony and Emma try to get started with their plotting--if they can stop arguing amongst themselves long enough to do it. Fortunately, Erik actually manages to speak to Charles without making an ass of himself--and Charles doesn't yell at him even once. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The version of "Stand by Me" that Charles is "singing" is Tracy Chapman's cover of the song, which if you haven't heard, give it a listen. The other song is "Baby Can I Hold You Tonight?", also by Tracy Chapman--but I gave it to Charles because I thought it sounded like something he would write.
> 
> 07/05: This chapter didn't quite seem complete to me, so I added a just little bit onto the end of the chapter.

Ch 9 The Concert…Part I

 

　

　

“…Mr. Stark. Hello…? _Mr. Stark_!”

 

Slightly dazed, Tony looks up from where he has been staring dreamily at Emma’s cleavage. “Yes…? I‘m sorry, you were saying…?”

“Mr. Stark, if you could _please_ tear your eyes away from my breasts, I would appreciate it. No matter how much you silently beg, they’re not going to hear you.” Holding up a hand to stop his protest, Emma adds, “And for future reference--and just so we’re clear: they’re _NEVER_ going to hear you.”

Grinning devilishly, Tony starts to say, “Oh, I wouldn’t be so quick to s--”

“Mr. Stark,” Emma interrupts, “do you have a vagina?”

Thrown by the abrupt change of subject, Tony answers, “Er, no…?”

"Then I‘ve no interest in you.”

“Oh.” A crestfallen Tony glares at Raven, who is howling with laughter.

“Dude! She shot you _down_!” Raven snorts out. Then gives him a comforting pat him on the shoulder, “Well, at least it’s not ‘cuz you’re ugly.”

Tony looks startled, then he grins. “You think I’m not ugly…?”

Raven’s face flushes and she turns away, snapping, “God, you’re such a perverted loser-nerd!”

Tony‘s grin widens even further. “You think I’m hot!”

Raven looks all kinds of horrified. “No, I don’t!”

“Do, too!”

“Do not!”

“Do!”

“Do not! Just because you think _I’m_ hot doesn’t mean I think _you_ are, Nerd!”

“Sure, Raven…whatever you say…” Tony leans back in his seat, his grin smug beyond belief. “We both know you want some of this hot nerd lovin‘!”

“Ooohhh!” Raven growls. “I fucking _hate_ you!”

“Do not.”

“Do, too.

“Come on, baby! Let’s hear some more of that hot ‘Trek talk.”

“I’m gonna photon-torpedo your sorry ass, Tony!”

 “Oh, yea--”

  
Their argument is interrupted by Emma‘s exasperated, “Knock it off!  I’m barely hanging onto my own sanity, trying to get Erik‘s love life in order--I don‘t want to be playing sex therapist for you two, as well.”  Forestalling Raven’s vehement denial, she says, ”Do you think that we can _please_ get down to the business of getting our dysfunctional loved ones a shot at what is sure to be an equally dysfunctional, but happy, Happily Ever After?”

Not much they can say to that, so Raven and Tony simply nod and settle in with Emma to begin hatching their master plan.  Though from the evil-sounding laughter and maniacal giggles, anyone passing by would never have guessed that they plotting out the future happiness of their loved ones.

 

　

　

Meanwhile…

 

Charles has some time to spare before heading off to do his sound-check and go to wardrobe and makeup, so he hits the dance studio to do a last-minute run-through of the dance choreography he’d been having so much trouble with the previous evening. To his profound relief, his feet seem to be cooperating this time. He’d die of humiliation if he messed up in front of Erik. The last thing Charles wants or needs is to give the man yet another reason to hate and ridicule him.

 

“‘Lip sync’, my arse!” he grumbles as he flawlessly executes a complicated dance move. “Charles Xavier does NOT _lip sync_!” He spins and drops to his knees, “I would NEVER repay my fans loyalty,” bounces back onto the balls of his feet, “by giving them anything less,” and spins again, “than my absolute best!”

 

Finally satisfied that he’s prepared for his performance, Charles sits down on the floor to relax for a few minutes. He pulls a battered-looking acoustic guitar out of any equally-battered case and strums out a few chords before launching into his own version of one of his favorite songs:

 

When the night has come

And the land is dark

And the moon is the only

light we see

 

I won’t cry, I won’t cry

No, I won’t be afraid

Just as long as you stand,

stand by me

 

Oh darling, darling

Stand by me, oh stand by me

Oh, stand, stand by me

Stand by me…

 

　

Erik is walking down the hall back toward the dance studio, determined to find Charles and get this apology shit over and done with, once and for all. He already did on paper, so surely he can do it in person, right? He can be the bigger man and admit that he was wro… _wron_ …ok, that Charles was rig..righ… _Oh for fuck’s sake_ …that Charles wasn’t ‘ _entirely_ out of bounds’ in being upset with him ( _Yeah, that‘ll work_ ). Just this once, Erik will be the one that holds out the olive branch and make amends (take _that_ TMZ, and shove it your hi-def ass!). Then hopefully all of these confusing feelings about Charles Xavier will go back to wherever they came from--along with the daydreams about Charles’s lovely blue eyes, and perfect ass…and chest, and lips, and shoulders, and freckles, and…

 

“Oh, God, _I want him to_ like _me_!” He panics. “I’m fucking **_doomed_**.”

 

His runaway train of thought gets derailed when, from close by, he hears the sounds of someone playing the guitar and singing. Erik’s too far away to hear the actual words, but the tune sounds familiar.  As he gets closer, he recognizes the song as “Stand By Me”, but Erik has never quite heard it like this before--this version is almost haunting. And the singer’s voice is… _incredible--_ sexy as hell and slightly deep and with just the barest hint of gravel to it. His jaw nearly hits the floor when he realizes that voice is coming from the dance studio.

Erik decides to tiptoe (because ‘sneak’ is such an ugly word) quietly down the hall to investigate (‘spy’), and he peeks around the door just as the song is ending. As he suspected, he sees Charles sitting on the floor, strumming a guitar.  He has already begun another song (one Erik has never before heard) and is lost in the music, his eyes closed and body swaying slightly as he begins singing:

 

“Sorry,” is all that you can’t say

Years gone by and still

Words don’t come easily

Like sorry, like sorry…

 

“Forgive me,” is all that you can’t say

Years gone by and still

Words don’t come easily

Like Forgive me, forgive me…

 

But you can say, “Baby…”

“Baby can I hold you tonight?”

Maybe if I told you the right words

At the right time, you’d be mine

 

 

Charles doesn’t seem to notice him, even as Erik creeps closer and quietly eases himself to the floor to listen.  Erik is thinking that seeing Charles like this is the most beautiful thing he’s ever witnessed.  That is until those ridiculous blue eyes of Charles’s open and look directly into Erik‘s:

 

“I love you,” is all that you can’t say

Years gone by and still

Words don’t come easily

Like, “I love you”, I love you…

 

But you can say, “Baby…”

“Baby can I hold you tonight?”

Maybe if I told you the right words

At the right time, you’d be mine

 

“Baby can I hold you tonight?”

Maybe if I told you the right words

At the right time, you’d be mine

 

That song…it doesn’t sound like anything Erik has ever heard from Charles.  And the way that Charles is looking at Erik…well, it’s really too soon to tell, but Erik is pretty sure that he could fall in love with Charles.

 

　

Charles opens his eyes to see Erik Lehnsherr sitting across from him, for the first time looking at him in a way that isn’t _insulting_ in some way.  On the contrary, the expression in those gray-green is giving Charles butterflies in his stomach.  Considering that he can’t breathe properly with Erik looking at him like that, he’s vaguely surprised to find that he was able to finish the song.

“I didn’t know you played…” Erik says to him, gesturing at the guitar.

_Here it fucking comes!_ Charles fights back a frustrated sigh, and for a moment, toys with the idea of bashing Erik over the head with the guitar.  Then he realizes that Erik is, for once, not being a dick--he looked genuinely curious.  “I usually don’t in public.”  Charles smiles a little, to take the sting out of his next words, “It’s kinda a bit difficult to do all of that _‘bouncing about on stage’_ while trying to hold a guitar, too.”

Erik looks away, shame-faced (he‘d been prepared for Charles to lay into him again).  “I, er…I suppose so.”  Then he looks back at Charles, “That song you were singing…the second one?  I’ve never heard it before.  Who wrote it…?”

Charles raises an eyebrow and smirks at him, “You make too many assumptions, my friend.  Just because I don’t perform my own music, doesn’t mean that I can’t or don’t write.”

Erik looks shocked, “But why not?  That was lovely!”

Charles gives him a wry smile, “Thank you for the compliment.  But it’s just that…I‘m a very private person and, for me, music is very personal.  I’m not really comfortable with sharing that much of myself with others, nor do I wish to burden others with feelings that are not always very pleasant.”

For a moment, Erik doesn’t say anything.  Looking thoughtful, he finally says, “I guess I never thought of it that way.  I‘ve always used music as a way to let it all out.”

Charles shrugs, “We all have our own way of dealing with our issues.  You like to make people think and to face their pain.  I deal with my pain, by trying to making people happy.  I like that I can take their minds off of their own problems for a bit and--” he’s interrupted by the sound of his alarm.  “Well, time to get ready for my sound-check.”  He gives Erik a smile, “For once, I can honestly say that it’s been lovely talking to you, Erik.  Good luck with your performance.”

As Charles walks out of the room, Erik says, “I enjoyed talking to you, too.  Oh, and Charles…?”

Charles looks back at him, “Yes, Erik?”

“I _am_ sorry for being such a dick to you.  About everything.”

 The brilliant smile Charles gives him in return sets butterflies loose in Erik’s stomach.  He’d be horrified to know that he had the very same smile on his own face.

 

 

After his sound-check, Charles had headed off to Wardrobe to check out his outfit changes, and now, he is getting his makeup done.

Storm, his stylist/makeup-artist/hair-dresser, sighs once again.  “Charles, you’re going to _have_ to stop smiling--at least long enough so that I can _try_ to fix your makeup, otherwise we‘ll never finish.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.  I didn’t realize.”  He tries to relax his face.

“That’s OK, sweetie,” she says, and continues working.  Then stops again, sighing.  “Charles?  You’re doing it again.”

“Oh,” he says, embarrassed, but still grinning.  “I‘m so sorry, love, I quite don‘t know what‘s wrong with me today.  I’ll do better.”  Grin.

“Seriously, Babydoll…you’re kind of freaking me out.”

Still unable to stop smiling, he asks, “Is it that really that bad?”

“You remember that scene in American Psycho…?  When Patrick Bateman is getting ready to ax-murder Paul Allen…?  And he’s got that maniacal grin on his face…?”

“Um, yes…”

“You make him look sane.”

“Oh, my!  I _am_ sorry, “ Charles laughs.  “I’m just in such a good mood today, I can’t seem to help myself.”

Storm has worked with Charles for years, and quickly cottons on to what is up with him.  Thrilled, she cracks a huge smile herself, and gives him a big hug.  “Oh, honey!  You’re in love, aren’t you?”

Blushing and still grinning like an idiot, Charles tells her, “Well, no, not quite yet.  But it’s very possible that I may well be in _like_.”

 


	10. Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erik somehow manages to end up right back at Square One with Charles. Erik pouts. Emma breaks bad on him. This leads to a bonding moment, which they mutally agree to never mention again.

Chapter 10

 

　

High on adrenaline from his performance, Erik approached an equally pumped and brilliantly-smiling Charles, determined to ask him out.  He wanted to pick up their earlier conversation over a nice dinner, and just _talk_ …you know, about _feelings_ and stuff--and get closer to the real Charles Xavier.  Unfortunately, somewhere along the neural pathways in Erik’s brain which convert thought to speech, what he’d _intended_ to say got lost in translation--and an unmitigated disaster of epic proportion tumbled out of his mouth.

 

In what he would later compare to an out-of-body experience, Erik had looked on helpless horror as that brilliant, welcoming smile slowly melted from Charles’s face until there was nothing left but this _look_ of confused hurt that made Erik cringe inside.  And before he could even _try_ to fix the damage…just like _that_ , they were right back at Square One: Charles yelling at him _(“Go fuck yourself, you fucking prick!”)_ , then stomping off in fury…leaving Erik feeling, and looking, like a complete ass.

 

Erik _knows_ he looked like a complete ass because someone had caught the incident on video and uploaded it to TMZ’s website, where it has seemingly been running 24/7.  As the clip featured only the parts that highlight _his_ humiliation, he suspects Raven Xavier is the culprit, though he doubts he‘ll ever be able to prove it.

 

　

　

Fortunately (or _not_ , depending on how you look at it), Emma had witnessed the entire debacle.  Seeing how utterly devastated Erik was, she’d let him wallow in his misery for a few days so he could get it out of his system.  Then, when she felt he‘d wallowed enough, she jabbed at the pile of blankets he‘d cocooned himself in, and told him to snap out of it and quit being a baby.  “Get up and go take a bath, for God’s sake--your neighbors are starting to complain about the smell!”  When she gets no response but a blank (though somehow-sullen) stare at the wall, she yanks the pillow out from under his head, vowing:  “We are going to fix this mess, whatever it takes!  Now, get your dead ass out of that bed, Erik!”  Then realizing that he’s trapped in the blankets and can’t get away from her, she starts viciously beating him with the pillow, yelling (over _his_ yells--Emma was stronger than she looked and apparently had some issues to work out), “I promised your mother that I would look out for you and see you happy!  I will NOT break my promise to her!  I won’t let _you_ make me break my promise to her.  Do you understand me?!  We will _fix_ this, and you _will_ be happy, damn you!  I don’t care if it kills us both!”  **WHACK!**

For the first time in days, Erik finally has the will, the motivation, to do something besides stare at the wall, and he looks up at an exhausted Emma, “Is this the part where you finally ‘fess up?  About you and my mother…?”  At Emma’s look of guilty surprise, Erik rolls his eyes and snorts, “Emma, _puh-leeze_!  I _know_.  I’ve known almost from the beginning.  I just figured the two of you would tell me when you were ready.”

The look on her face is one Erik is unfamiliar with--she looked surprisingly young and unsure of herself.  She sinks down onto the bed, beside him, stammering, “I-I…don’t know wh--”

More eye rolling from Erik.  “For God’s sake, Emma!  I may be emotionally-stunted in every other area of my life, but not when it comes to my mother!  What did you think I was going to say, anyway?” He strikes a camp pose, “Gay, here!  I’m hardly going to throw stones over a same-sex relationship.  Even if I did have a problem with it, I wouldn’t have interfered--I wouldn’t have done anything to put more stress on her.  Besides, you made her happy--that’s all that mattered to me.”  He pretends he doesn’t hear what sounds suspiciously like a wet snuffle coming from Emma‘s direction, and continues, “At first, I thought that it she was just because glad to have a friend--as close as we were, I know it‘s just not the same as having a friend.  Then I kinda figured out what was happening when I noticed the sparkle was back in her eyes--the sparkle that had been missing since my father died.  I just know that she was better when you were around.”  More wet snuffling.  “I think you’re the reason she was able to hold on as long as she did.”

At those words, the wet snuffling becomes an open sobbing.  His own eyes wet, Erik sits up and awkwardly hugs Emma, letting her sob into his shoulder.  “Of everything that I’ve done, I’m the most sorry I was such a selfish bastard that the two of you felt like you had to hide your happiness.  And I’m sorry that I’ve been such a selfish bastard that you haven’t able to grieve for her properly because you still felt like you had to hide it from me.”

They hug and cry for a long time, then afterward, both agree to never mention that awkward bit of business ever again.  They were far too much alike for either of them to want this kind of thing to become a habit.  It was enough to know, even if was unspoken, that they had each other’s backs.

 

After fixing her makeup, Emma grabs the pillow off of Erik’s bed and shakes it threateningly at him, “Now, are you going to crawl out of bed and take a shower, or…?” Shake, shake, shake. “We’ve got some damage control to do. Be downstairs in half an hour.”

Remembering the surprisingly-effective pillow beating she’d given him (it had felt like she was using a bag of oranges), Erik meekly crawls out of bed and heads to the shower.  For the first time in days he feels, if not optimistic, at least like he doesn’t want to crawl into a hole and die.  He supposes if anybody can fix this mess, Emma can.

 

And to Erik’s surprise, Emma had enlisted the help of Raven Xavier and Tony Stark.  Once they saw how miserable Erik looked, they’d agreed to him--or, more accurately, agreed to help _Charles_ by helping Erik.  Besides, they’d been disappointed that their carefully laid plans had been aborted, and were eager for another chance to play matchmaker (though that part hadn't been mentioned to Erik--they'd all agreed it would be in everyone's best interests to keep 'The Plan' on the down-low).  Even _with_ their so-called ‘help’ (which he suspected would mostly involve his psychological torture), if what Raven was telling him was anything near accurate, the sheer amount of pleading, begging, and kissing of ass Erik would have to do just to get Charles to simply _look_ him would surely unparalleled in the annals of history.

 

He could only hope that if he held on long enough, Charles, being Charles, would eventually forgive him.


	11. Misery Loves Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles wallows in his misery. Raven bullies him out of it.

Meanwhile...

 

Charles is wrapped up in his fuzzy blanket and curled up in the corner of the sofa, watching _Grease_  (again), while plowing through his second pint of Ben & Jerry’s Peanut Butter Cup ice cream in as many days—he’d probably be on his third, but doesn’t want to hear Raven’s fat jokes.  But, _dammit_ , he deserves to wallow a _little_ in his misery!

He _still_ can’t believe what that arrogant prick, Erik, had said to him!  He’s not sure which of the emotions running through him is strongest:  shock, disbelief, anger, sadness, or disappointment.  Erik and he had such a lovely conversation before the sound-check and _finally_ seemed to be on the same page.  The way Erik had been looking at him, _really_ looking at him, and that _smile_...it was just what Charles had hoped.  He’d thought that maybe it was the start of something good.  So, when a broadly-smiling Erik had approached him after his performance, Charles had been on top of the world.   _But, oh, no!_ That’s not what he got at all!  He still burns with anger and embarrassment at the memory:

_ Unable to stop smiling, he’d already decided that his performance tonight was easily his best to date—and knew that the reason was the tall, handsome, smiling man just coming off-stage from his own performance.  He’d tried really hard to dial back his own brilliant smile, so he wouldn’t look like a total doofus in front of Erik, but he just couldn’t help it.  ‘He’s going to ask me out, I know it!’  For one brief, shining moment it was all so perfect.  Then, still smiling, Erik started talking—and that’s where it all went so horribly wrong:  “Charles! I actually sat through your whole performance for once!   It wasn’t awful like I thought it would be!  I didn’t even have to use my earbuds this time.  I’m still not entirely convinced that you don’t lip-sync, especially considering you don’t do your own music, but...”  _

Stunned, and unable to believe what he was hearing, Charles had stopped listening at that point. He completely missed how, looking confused, Erik trailed off and start stuttering, his confused expression growing increasingly horrified.  All Charles could hear was the blood pounding in his ears, and all he could feel was this sick, confused _hurt_.  The hurt (at least for the moment) was quickly eclipsed by anger, and he had shouted, _“Go fuck yourself, you fucking prick!”_ and he stomped off amid the flashing of cameras.  If nothing else, he’d at least left Erik standing there looking (and, unbeknownst to Charles, _feeling_ ) like a complete ass.  Even worse, someone had gotten a video of the whole nasty incident, and it had been _‘leaked’_ to the press (probably by Raven, though she was keeping her yap suspiciously shut), fueling the now-epic Lehnsherr/Xavier War.  Not that Charles would watch it.  So far, he’d managed to avoid all the news channels—seeing it would only remind him of his hurt and embarrassment.

“What did I ever see in him, anyway?  He’s such a _dick_!” Charles snorts, shoveling ice cream into his mouth.  “And why do I still care?” he mumbles, dejectedly. Shoveling in more ice cream (and most definitely _not_ sniffling), he sings along with Sandy as she pines for Danny Zuko:  

 

_ Guess mine is not the first heart broken, _

_ My eyes are not the first to cry _

_ I'm not the first to know, there's just no gettin' over you  _

_ I know I'm just a fool who's willing _

_ to sit around and wait for you _

_ But baby can't you see, there's nothin' else for me to do  _

_ I'm hopelessly devoted to you _

_ But now there's nowhere to hide,  _

_ since you pushed my love aside _

_ I'm out of my head, hopelessly devoted to you  _

_ Hopelessly devoted to you ,  _ _ hopelessly devoted to you _

_ My head is saying "fool, forget him",  _

_ my heart is saying "don't let go" _

_ Hold on to the end, that's what I intend to do _

_ I'm hopelessly devoted to you  _

_ But now there's nowhere to hide, since you---” _

 

 

“You’ve _really_ got it bad, don’t you?” Raven interrupts, coming in from wherever she’s been sneaking off to the last couple of days.

“No, of course not!” Charles answers, just a little _too_ quickly—not looking _at all_ defensive.  “What makes you say that?!” 

“Oh, I don’t know...maybe the fact that you’ve eaten about two gallons of ice cream.  Or that you’ve been sniffling and wailing along to _Grease_ for the past two days like a 12-year-old girl.  Or that you’re wrapped up in Fuzzy Blanket.  Don’t lie to me, Charles,” she says, when he tries to protest again.  “You think I don’t know you only act like this when you feel bad?  You’re a mess!”

“So?!” Charles says, around a mouthful of ice-cream, not even trying to hide his pissy mood anymore. 

Raven drops down beside him and pulls him into a full-body hug.  “I can’t stand to see you like this!  It’s not fair!”  She strokes his hair, and growls fiercely, “But don’t you worry.  I’m making it right!  Everything is going to be just fine.  You’ll see.” 

The utter conviction in her voice, causes a chill to go down Charles’s spine.  “What do you mean _‘making it right’_?  What have you _done_ , Raven?” 

“Shhhh!  Don’t you worry about it.  It’s going to be alright, I promise.  Don’t you worry about a thing.” 

Charles is panicking now a little now, trying to squirm out of her frighteningly-strong grip.  “Oh, my God!  What did you _do_?!  Did you kill Erik?!   _Oh my God!_ You killed him, didn’t y—” 

“Have you lost your fucking _mind_?!” Raven pulls back and stares at him.  “Of course I didn’t kill him!” 

Charles gives an embarrassed shrug. “You have to admit, you _can_ be a little over-the-top at tim—” 

“...I hired someone else to do it.” 

“Oh my G—” Charles eyes bug out and he nearly strangles on his own spit before being abruptly silenced by a smack to the back of his head. 

“When I asked earlier if you had lost your fucking mind,” Raven glares, “the question was supposed to be rhetorical. I didn’t think we were gonna need to actually discuss the issue.” 

Charles rubs the back of his head, wincing.  “Well, you _are_ very loyal, Raven.”

“Charles, there’s a pretty big difference between _‘loyal’_ and putting out a hit on someone!” 

Finally relaxing a little, Charles smiles for the first time in days, and snuggles into back into Raven’s hug.  “If it makes you feel any better, Snoogins, I was more worried about you going to prison than about him snuffing it.” 

Raven kisses the top of his head.  “That means a lot to me, Sunshine.  Now, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but you and Fuzzy Blanket are getting a little ripe.  How about you take a shower while I throw him in the wash?” 

“That bad, huh?” Charles reluctantly hands over Fuzzy Blanket, warning Raven, “Don’t wash him on ‘hot’, you know it makes him lose fuzzies.  And use the Woolite—that other stuff makes him smell funny.” 

Raven holds the blanket gingerly between her thumb and forefinger.  “I’ve got news flash for you, Charles:  he smells funny _now_.  But,” she continues, ignoring the offended _harrumph_ , “you know I’ll take good care of him—I always do.  As for you, the sooner you hop in the shower, the sooner I don’t have to smell you, so _GO_!”

“Alright, alright!  I’m going!” Charles grouses, getting up and heading toward his room. Over his shoulder, he adds, “Oh, and Raven—” 

“ _‘Dry him on the ‘fluff cycle’!’_    I know, I _know_!  I _have_ done this before, Charles.” “

"Well, of course, you’ll dry him on ‘fluff’.  But I was _going_ to tell you to order some take-away. and when I finish in the shower, we’re going to eat, then you’re going to explain to me what you meant about all that _‘making it right’_ nonsense.”

“Oh. That." _Damn!_  "I told you not to worry about that.”

“Well, I’m worrying.  You’re up to something to do with Erik, and I want to know.” 

_Busted._   Raven sighs.  “Fine.  Thai food sound OK?  Then I’ll explain everything, Charles, I promise.” 

Charles looks at her for a long moment, then nods and heads to the shower. 

As soon, as she hears the shower start up, Raven dives for her phone.  “Tony!  It’s Raven!  Get your nerd ass over here _now_!  I need back-up!”


End file.
